Bio Note: It seems almost old fashioned, but freely admitted, that my wife and I celebrate our fiftieth wedding anniversary this year. Though we are retired from public school teaching and architectural woodcarving respectively, our daughters and grandchildren keep us young. My wife and I talk a lot about craft and artistic issues as we continue life-long activities of quilting and poetry writing.
For Cailin, Tommy, and Lucy Grandfather, almost without his knowing, collects small wonders in peanut butter jars to share with his grandkids, as if sowing some indelible question. In boxes made for cigars are snail shells, brass keys, a quartz arrowhead. There are fallen feathers, a cat’s eye, picks for guitars. He carves house wrens for them in his back shed among bright-bladed tools, raspberry basket, bee smoker, and a runner-rusted sled. There is an answer if they would just ask it; the nature of desire which all generations repeat, while his stories, as they grow older, are less fantastic. They will remember him to their children, will be discreet no doubt, his unfinished projects they unknowingly complete.
©2020 Frederick Wilbur
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