Aconteceu Em Woodstock Page

She couldn’t have been more than nineteen. Long brown hair matted with straw. Barefoot, because her sandals had dissolved into the mud two days ago. She was walking slowly through the sludge, carrying a small bundle wrapped in a yellow raincoat.

I never saw the girl again. But I’ve thought about her every time I’ve heard someone say that Woodstock was about the music, or the drugs, or the free love. aconteceu em woodstock

People thought it was a baby. For a second, so did I. She couldn’t have been more than nineteen

By dawn, the field was a soup of trampled grass, empty beer cans, and the strange, quiet surrender of a generation that had come to change the world and ended up just trying to keep their sleeping bags dry. She was walking slowly through the sludge, carrying

The night before, the sky had split over Max Yasgur’s alfalfa field. Half a million of us huddled under wet denim and collapsing canvas. The sound system crackled with static. The chili had turned to cold paste. And somewhere around 3 a.m., the rumor spread: They’re airlifting people out. The National Guard is coming. None of it was true.

It happened in Woodstock, but not on the stage. Not during Hendrix’s star-spangled feedback or Joe Cocker’s convulsing arms. It happened out in the field, on Sunday morning, when the rain had already won.