Healed, Here Comes the Sun

Little Darlin', it's been a long cold lonely winter
Little Darlin', it seems like years since it's been clear,
Here comes the sun, here comes the sun, and I say,
It's all right.....

I feel like it's been a long winter for healing.  Last night I ventured out on the streets of Philadelphia for the first time in months.  It was First Friday in Philadelphia, where all the art galleries in Old City open their doors to celebrate the arts and offer wine and good times.  It was crowded.  Vendors with jewelry and art crowded 2nd Street with their tables to the beat of drummers and singer-songwriters.  It was quite a happening.  I found my familiar spot on 2nd and Chestnut and played for three hours.  It felt great to be out there again, singing, sharing my music.  Several store owners welcomed me back warmly.  It's nice to have been missed.  It was a beautiful warm Friday night.  Fireworks crackled over the Delaware River.  The street hummed with activity.  Yes, it was good to be back.
Most of all, I met up with some musician friends I hadn't seen in months.  Clinton, a 62-year-old trumpet player gave me a big burly hug and a crinkly-eyed smile.  Huey, my banjo buddy, filled me in on all the goings on with the cops. 
Yes, it was good to be back.
Last week I was in Bangor, Maine, at the American Folk Festival with my son, Andre.  It was a wonderful time, full of musicians, not only from the USA, but from China, Mexico, Egypt, Quebec, and India.  The blues musicians from Louisiana and Mississippi were very cool.  Most of all I enjoyed the buskers.  There was one cool dude who played mandolin.  Just stood there and played mandolin the whole day.  Hours and hours.  He had to be the most devoted busker I have ever met in my life.  There were other musicians, who played guitar and congas and flute and dulcimer, but that mandolin player sticks in my mind most of all. 
Music. 
Helps to make sense out of the chaos.
And heal the wounds.