Day 252 – Old Friend

Old Friend

Day 252

Pencils by Carl Sandburg
Pencils
telling where the wind comes from
open a story.

Pencils
telling where the wind goes
end a story.

These eager pencils
come to a stop
.. only .. when the stars high over
come to a stop.

Out of cabalistic to-morrows
come cryptic babies calling life
a strong and a lovely thing.
I have seen neither these
nor the stars high over
come to a stop.
Neither these nor the sea horses
running with the clocks of the moon.
Nor even a shooting star
snatching a pencil of fire
writing a curve of gold and white.
Like you .. I counted the shooting stars of a winter
night and my head was dizzy with all
of them calling one by one:

Look for us again.

I ran into a couple of old friends tonight.  I haven’t seen them in years.  Oh, I ran into their cousin a couple of weeks ago, but I have kept my distance from these two.  We visited for close to an hour until I had to get the kids tucked in.  After that the moment was lost, long moment though it was. In the end, I am quite satisfied, because my old friends, a 3B pencil and a sheet of sketch paper, were still familiar to me.  I was able to give my Sam a bit of a lesson in drawing tonight as well, and oh!  Is she ever good for an old mom’s ego!