January 22, 2015
Today I read
a letter from a longtime friend. We were both students at Frostburg in the 60’s
and have kept in touch more or less over the years, both of our lives going in
different directions. Technology has become a large part of my life, socially
and creatively but computers are not in Peter’s life. He makes phone calls and
writes letters, often reciting or sending his original poems.
His
poetry is introspective and has the style and cadence of the Edgar Guest poems that
I used to read in one of my grandmother’s books. Unlike most modern poetry, his
style includes traditional end rhymes. This recent poem he sent to me talks
about how there is no map in life that charts a course—that life consists of “breadcrumbs
dropped in a snowstorm” and “chalk marks made before a rain.” These same
thoughts also crossed my mind as I photographed my footprints in fresh snow.
Those snow prints tell me where I have been but fail to show the way I should
go. The future is fresh snow where no one has walked yet.
Maybe
there is such a thing as metaphorical footprints which are made up of interactions
with others. Perhaps these interpersonal relations are more than temporary
breadcrumbs and chalk marks. Is it too much to hope that some residue of these
interactions from the past and in the present might remain over time and point
to where we should go?
My gift today is a poem.
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