(an emotional coffeehouse for seasonal change)
FRIDAY SEPT. 28, 2012
1861/2 HAMPSHIRE ST.
Melancholiness always accompanies the twilight of summer as the days become shorter and cool air breathes gently through the brittle leaves of the resplendent trees. It wasn’t that long ago when we were soothing our bodies in the warm hands of endless sunlight, losing ourselves in barefoot explorations through thickets of tall grass and chirping meadows, only to find ourselves once again crashing our bodies to the earth at dusk with hearts beating, gazing beyond the heavens as a blanket of stars comforted us with a cadence of crickets drifting us to sleep, letting our minds frolic in imaginary pastures of dreams so real...
As we awake from our sleep now, the world around us is less forgiving of such adventures. Some of us are lucky to escape the inevitable winter looming over us: the geese fly south. But for the rest of us, we have to prepare ourselves for the colder months ahead: the squirrels must gather acorns.
Like the school children who spend their last day of summer vacation holding on to those final hours of independence and freedom, we are likely to spend these days before hibernation reflecting on the months gone by, while reluctantly outgrowing them. The squirrel cannot spend his time playing games during the acorn hunt or he will not survive the winter. We shouldn’t pretend that summer will last forever, for the sight of morning frost on bare trees will soon signal the specter of icy gloom. Yet another of life's cycles is nearing its end. Autumn leaves must fall.
This installment of the Junk Kitchen is dedicated to helping you come to grips with the seasonal changing of the guard. In true Junk Kitchen fashion we are transforming the Outpost once again. This time to a mid-90s open mic coffee house complete with dim lights, small tables and a written-in-chalk chalk board menu of hot drinks and day-old half-stale pastries. Performances will feature a diverse mix of reed players who will layer their somber tones underneath reedings of poetry that will help you ponder the past and contemplate the coming winter. Sorry, no Wi-Fi available.