Yesterday, I travelled down prairie roads from the "big city" to the campus that taught me so much about the written word, the human spirit, and left me wanting more. Fortunately, for me, every now and then Southwest Minnesota State University, old friends, and the prairie provides. Yesterday, I attended two author readings, a student reading, and a tribute my old professor, Bill Holm who passed away last year. He was an icon of a man, a poet, an essayist, a musician, etc., etc, etc. -- no amount of reminiscing can really do him justice. But we try, and will keep trying because whatever bits we share will comfort us.
The Marshall Festival is smaller than it used to be, more intimate. What was once always a packed event, with out of towners fighting for lodging, readings that boasted standing room only like a rock concert or playoff game allow for a little more elbow room. New flowers grow along Memory Lane. But as always, it is inspiring. If my count is correct, this is my 4th festival. And although it is different, somehow it is always the same.
Like always, I bring my notebook. And scribble inspirations in random directions. Some words my own, a memory sparked from some tangent gift from the writer in front of me. Words held in the reserves of my mind, that finally think they might be ready to come out and play.
So now I go off to scribble in the white space more of their words, more memory, more prophesy, and my own bits of courage. Just happy to have another day.
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