Last Saturday we went to the Stone Arch Festival of the Arts and spent part of our time listening to Roma di Luna perform on the City Pages Stage perched on the peninsula of land near Nicollet Island just adjacent to the St. Anthony Falls on the Mississippi River. The lead singer, Channy Casselle, was a twenty(?)-something young woman with brown hair pulled back in a ponytail and long side-swept bangs and fair porcelain-like coloring. She wore a black tank, a blue-and-black plaid A-lined skirt that fell six inches or so above her knees, brown knee socks, and black boots, which from where I stood appeared to be of unequal heights with one reaching just below her knee and the other, mid-calf. We only stayed for a handful of songs because there were four other stages dotting the river on Main Street, the birthplace of Minneapolis, as well as art booths to be perused and snacks to be purchased in between, but I liked what I heard in those songs. And I admired what I saw in that lead singer and wondered if she might be a good model at the writing desk. She stood on that stage in front of that crowd and sang her songs—eyes closed, face tilted upward, body swaying, foot tapping, shoulders back, arms out to her side and open, not holding on to a single thing.*
*that is, when she wasn’t playing her violin.