single cells would swing their fists.

Andrew Bird stood there, alone, the first time in years. Almost insignificant, he was dwarfed by the stage, hiding behind his mop of hair. Looking out at thousands, he began to play, and all the chattering stopped. A single note pierced through the evening, followed by another, then more.

Layers upon layers were built, swished around, manipulated. Deep bass tones bled into playful higher melodies, lighted colors danced around the stage, and everyone sat, contentedly watching and listening.

We had blankets and sheets, throws, sweatshirts, and a tablecloth. Bottles and bottles and bottles of wine, snacks galore, and the best company you could ask for. Those who couldn't make it missed out, and were missed.

Leading up, the weather was a 30 percent chance of rain. Morning of was 60 percent. Before we left for the show, it was up to 70 percent. But not a single drop of rain fell the entire night, and it was a pretty amazing thing.

I'm looking forward to more nights like this coming up, as fall has made its appearance. Good music, great friends, and an even better atmosphere.