Steve’s footsteps and mine began intersecting in 2009. We were frequently members of the same audience enjoying poetry accompanied by jazz. Coincidence played a role, sure. But it was our similarities that funneled us into the same crowd, and now it binds us in proximal orbits, circling the sun in timely seasons. Strangers no more, these orbits are called like minds. They are friendship.

We met for coffee again. Joy and sorrow swirled like steam and aroma from our cups.

Steve wears a cast, temporarily, and stoically—and he is clearly pained in quantum doses by our country’s politics—far greater than a mere surgery or the time it takes to heal. He shuts out newsfeeds, papers and TVs. A good idea, not missing a thing, I concur.

My pain is at bay, but I share the nexus of a few leaks where recent comfort has escaped my loosening grip—migraines, my hip, computer woes. And so on. What else do old men do? Compare wounds and curse high tech!

Pah!

We praise each other. And offer help. And tell stories—heroic stories with champions who are teachers, coaches, partners who carry loads, and kids. We carry on. Whether limping or fretting, if you can’t see a bounce in our get-along, you’re blind. Welcome to the club!

Steve, ever the William Stafford fan, pulled up this poem. It shines through darkness, exactly like the poet did in World War II.

Why I Am Happy[1]

Now has come, an easy time. I let it
roll. There is a lake somewhere
so blue and far nobody owns it.
A wind comes by and a willow listens
gracefully.
I hear all this, every summer. I laugh
and cry for every turn of the world,
its terribly cold, innocent spin.
That lake stays blue and free; it goes
on and on.
And I know where it is.

—William Stafford

Thanks for sharing a cup, Steve, and for a sweet poem to fuel my seek-mobile.[2]

[1] http://www.oregonlive.com/books/index.ssf/2013/01/poetry_why_i_am_happy_by_willi.html
[2] http://bentari.com/Blog/Entry.aspx?pid=276&bid=51&beid=1154 – Read Steve’s untitled poem