I sing softly into her ear. I sing, "By the time we got to Woodstock, we were half a million strong, and everywhere there was a song and celebration."
"Stop that," she says, batting the song away as if it was a taunting crow. Her silver bracelets click. "If there's one thing I never expected to end up as," she says, "it's an old hippie."
"There are, you know, worse things to end up as," I say.
"It's too late," she says. "The butterflies are turning back into bombers. Haven't you noticed? They're going to build condos on that mountain, take my word for it."
(Joni is also mentioned on pages 99, 166 and 334.)
(Contributed by Neil Ellis Orts)
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