I couldn’t wait to get to the venue and people-watch. I knew this was going to be an interesting crowd.
It was past 7:30, and the show began at 8. The crowd outside was sparse but sufficient to draw a correlation between them and those who were already inside.
First of all, there were his peers who looked as one might have imagined they looked like: Men with silver pony tails, smokers, and punks – all wrapped into one – and extruded through the eyes of Time …
They were truly a scary sight.
And then there were the women.
Those who may have been the Flower Children of that generation …
But who had sadly changed.
So that was the top tier.
Grandpas and Grandmas.
And then there were the ones (mostly men) who had actually lived lives Dylan’s own creative consciousness had manufactured earlier – when he was still a youth and a prophet. How sacrilege, someone might say. But this has nothing to do with religion – not that kind of stuff, but conditions we face as humans. Dark ones. Of the mind. Of the spirit. Of who and where are we in the grand scheme of Life. And what are the things we must face along the way? Which path to take? And those are the topics of prophets sometimes.
Must’ve been those Minnesota winters …