New Times in an Old Place

Once, as my brother told his story of a summer camp summer hiking trip many years ago, an old man came wandering up to our campfire in the woods. He sat down and told us stories, played his guitar and sang songs with us.

He left as quietly as he came.

He was Carl Sandburg whose Flat Rock farm, Connemara, was famous for him and for his wife's goats. 

My brother's daughter and family visited the farm the day after Thanksgiving, where the children made friends with the chickens, goats, and cat.

 I don't think they even noticed the bluebirds.

I couldn't help feeling nostalgic for a place I myself knew many years ago from many camp summers nearby, for singing around a campfire, and for a meeting with a man I knew only through his words and voice.

Window Reflections

"Good writing is like a windowpane." (from "Why I Write" by George Orwell)

    There is something to be said for directness and clarity: look through the clean window of words and see the meaning.

"Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance." (Carl Sandburg)

   Instead of looking through the pane, focus on the reflection:
there you'll find a poem.