Many of these poems are about natural allies, the young and the old, searching for the eternal inside the ephemeral. They support and redeem each other whether at the beach or building trails on my part of a Blue Ridge mountain. In balletic delight, theyre day moons, unicorns, and boneless snakes, transcendent joy to his pursuit of the spiritual. They are the songs that cannot be memorized, tiny threads of freedom that alter the motion of the universe. In this playhouse of words, they offer an endless array of actors appearing as if by train emerging from a tunnel far across the valley the interplay of young and old, compelling as the smell of pine needles in hot noon heat of summer, clinging to my skin and clothes, claiming me the way the day claims the sky.
