If you're anything like us ...
You have a very creative friend who wants to have all
of our writer friends together to read and share. You
make an announcement at church that any and all are
welcome, and the people come. Everyone piles on the
floor of a teeny Chicago studio, leaning on the bed and
walls -- the couch may stay empty. You cut triangles of
gyro bread and heat it, served with spinach dip, herbed
olive oil, on the floor. Everyone digs in. They read and
speak and between filling mason jars with water, you
soak in the tangible creativity that's boiled over.
If you're anything like us, you're a bunch of rather urban,
young people in a city with a lot of cement, but you
dream and write and croon the prarie life. You love folk.
Everything about it. Your church sings old hymns with an
upright bass and a flute. You crowd on the floor of a little
apartment and you share (really) wonderful poems about
in Texas. Eventually, it's a given, the harmonicas come out.
Your talented friends will improvise the sound of your
remembrance of a place you never lived -- though
they have.
they have.
Your friends will astound you.
And then you'll wonder how long it will be until most of
these fine people leave the city for a home with
upturned dirt.
upturned dirt.
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