The sound has drifted from the stage for several days now.
The music is gone.
In dry air at a rate of 768 mph, it should be somewhere out in space, or at least to Tennessee.
Yet it lingers. In our heads and hearts the songs play on.
It's a gift we purchased with a ticket that keeps on playing - giving something back. Melodies and words becoming a part of our collective memory. An in-body music library that lasts a lifetime, no matter how long or short that time might be.
Mingled with the smell of harvest and cotton candy, the feel of warm, dusty air and soft denim on our skin there is the rhythm of that special three-show night.
A night where more bands played than ever before.
And folks walked away with more than they had brought with them.
Little sounds that linger.
Something that stays in the heart for a final encore. Even after the music is gone.
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