May 4, 2015
I’m grateful for these few days of jonquils opening, waves booming into and under the dolomite ledges at Cave Point, Paleozoic cousins embedded in the rock at Newport State Park, howling pack of coyotes at twilight, loons, pelicans, multitudes of like midges (yes, even grateful for them), full moon on May 3, rising huge and the approximate color of a ripe persimmon, hospitality, good gathering of poets, two wildly beautiful sunsets and spring unrelentingly energizing from bulbs and branches and the throats of frogs. Hope to return and write and read and walk more – no better anecdote to television than a full orange moon; no better therapy than waves doing what they do; no better clock than birdsong and tide shifts, and trillium about to blast open at the edges of woods. A sweet place to contemplate what place means, and what words can do to carve a human place in time and space.
Max Garland (Eau Claire, Wisconsin)
Poet, author of Hunger Wide as Heaven and Wisconsin Poet Laureate, 2013-14