Revel Grove

Ok, so.  I've made the executive decision to expand my blog's horizons.  I've got a lot of thoughts that need a place to live so they're not tumbling aimlessly through my brain.  A lot of these thoughts that may or may not be music-related.  Don't worry.  I'm still focused on music and dance.  Just a few other things as well. 

Anyway.  On to bigger, greater things.  Like the upcoming season.

Fall.  One of my favorite things in life.  Nothing invokes such calm as the changing leaves.  I drive to work every weekend and I've been seeing the leaves gradually fade from bright green to a muddier version of their summer color.  Its exciting.  It promises spiced apple cider, scarves, bonfires, Halloween, and most importantly, the Renaissance Faire.  Each October, the family (plus Amanda) makes a trip to the Faire to enjoy the merry-making and festivities.  There's jousting, costumes, theatrical performances, food-on-a-stick, and quaint little shops to visit.  The whole atmosphere is just enveloping.  Once you step through the gates you are whisked away somewhere back in time, hundreds of years ago.  The ages of knights and ladies, courtly love, quests, chivalry, castles.  And the smells.  I mean, there's nothing like it.  The scent of crisp leaves and sugared pecans dances softly through the festival, mingling beautifully with the sound of laughter and music. It's just kind of surreal and you can't help but smile and pretend it really is 1512.  Then you turn to look behind you and you see this towering, majestic figure shrouded in white.  It's wearing a porcelain mask.  Whatever it's supposed to be, it's on stilts.  And looking up, you can't stop yourself from cracking a grin as it tilts its head and dips slightly toward you in greeting.  Offering a small wave, you turn back to meander through the crowd.  You can see the elephants to your left and at the bottom of the leaf-laden hill, a woman sells roses from a hand-woven basket.  A man dressed as a pirate (and just because it's the Faire, you let yourself believe he IS a pirate) touches your shoulder and dips his tricorne hat below his eye, offering a coy smile while doing so.  "Good day sir," you say in a practiced British accent.  The scene from atop the hill hasn't changed, but a breeze is blowing now.  Chilly and laced with the mystery of the past.  Somewhere in the distance, the clash of lance and shield can be heard, followed by a tumultuous  "HUZZAH!"  A horse's neigh.  The sharp clink of tankards.  Raucous laughter from a tavern nearby.  Stand there for a minue.  Just take it all in.  You probably have the best view of the Faire from up here.  Through the amber-colored trees, you can almost see the performance happening on Fortune Stage.  Children run around chasing one another, giggling and squealing, brandishing wooden swords and shields.  Wandering down the hill, you come to a little shop.  Paintbrushes and palettes sit in the window sills and costumed figures stand over their customers, decorating them with strokes of deep purples and reds.  Works of art, really.  You sit in an empty wooden chair and a lady walks up to you.  You let her work magic, making pleasant conversation all the while.  When she's finished, you look in the mirror.  Glittering ribbons of paint cascade down your cheek, branching off in all different directions, forming a mask over your face.  Everyone turns to look as you wander along the pathways.
Soon, the chilling Autumn twilight descends upon the festival, giving it a new atmosphere, one of secrecy and enchantment.  There's not very many people out anymore.  They have all either found their way to a tavern or gone home.  A feathered costume brushes past you.  Goosebumps.  You spin quickly enough to see the hooded creature disappear into the darkness.  You smirk at the excitement of it all.  Music still plays somewhere.  The warm glow of the glassblower's fire beckons you near.  He's still hard at work, creating beautiful masterpieces by the dozen.  "Come in," he calls.  You enter.  Your eyes wander around the shop.  It's warm, comforting, crammed full of beautiful glass vases, gazing balls, and ornaments.  You find yourself standing beside the fire, watching as the old man crafts a blue globe from the top of a long tube.  You can still hear the music.  It's slower now, becoming accustomed to the approaching night.  You know you have to leave.  But what a hard thing to do.  You slowly turn from the comfort of the fire and head back into the growing darkness.  It's a hard walk, the one from the Faire to the car.  One you wish you never have to make.  Bittersweet, though.  You know you'll be back.  Next year, the leaves will change again and you'll find yourself caught up in the mystery and intrigue of the Faire once more.  And at that thought, you can't help but smile.