After Sandburg’s death Paula left her home with little more than a suitcase and a few family mementos for her children and bestowed everything else upon the American people, the ones her husband spoke to in his writing, and, more often, spoke for. Nothing touched. Nothing stirred. Nothing changed. Nothing disturbed. All is the same. All is the same. They are only gone for the day. They will be back soon. Forever frozen in time. Eternalized. The people’s poet then. The people’s poet now. Paula’s gift to us. Thank you.
A rock comfortable? Never. Yet it is. The crevices fit to the curves of my figure. It is a closeness to nature I don’t often experience. Yet this removed from society the signs of civilization, industrialization, technology, and the future are still found. I hear a plane. It interrupts the song of nature. Or is it a part of it now? Has so much time passed that these sounds, the sound of a plane, have evolved and transformed to and integral part of it now? The song of nature. The song of the creatures. The song of me. The song of you.The song of us, of the world. The wind blows at my back. It rustles the leaves. The air is crisp and clean. I like to breath it in. I drink it. The sun beats on my back and rosies my cheeks. I find solace up here, on this rock, above everyone, away from it all. The expanse of it all, so vast. It outstretches for miles and miles, acres and acres. Like time, it is never ending, always moving, like the wind always blowing. So much to see. So much to take in and absorb. So many thoughts. They are all jumbled. It is all so overwhelming, yet calming at the same time. I don’t even have the impulse to rhyme. I don’t know why I don’t write more often. I guess I don’t usually find my voice, but this time, this day, my thoughts flow from my mind to my pen almost too fast for me to keep up. The pen is so powerful. My mind is racing, heart thumping, memories pouring all together. I am rambling I know. It is like I have found forever all on a big ‘ole rock. Is this how Carl felt?