No difficult goodbyes this year—
except for the many gone for good
we carry with us while they graze
new ground and make new homes.
Instead we gaze into a screen to reach
what we cannot touch. No warm embrace.
no eye to eye, no songs to take on
seas of sage and purple mountains home.
Seven hundred miles away and spared
the tears your voices bring, echoing
unanswered—no high-tech magic yet
better than the real thing.
drycrikjournal 
John, even though it’s been many years since I’ve been to the Gathering, I still feel a little empty inside on this Sunday, when everything’s over for the year and everyone starts heading home. Your poem captured how I feel today….
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Thanks.
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You were so missed. Will be in touch when the eyes and ears clear.
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Your absence and the reasons for it were noted and understood, respectively.
While it made good sense to our heads, the message refused to reach our hearts that so missed you and Robin. Our hearts mule-stubbornly wished you with us. We’re selfish, but…
we should all hope that our hearts win out over heads when good friends are concerned.
Bill Jones returned after many years and soothed the sore of regret that Rod and Sue would be missing ever more. There were tears in his session for time-dimmed memories we try so hard to hold on to.
You all have our prayers for a steady, but gentle rain that goes on and on and on until you find the wherewithal to wish for a dry day.
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Thanks, Pat. It’ll be awhile before that day comes as the 1/2 inch rain we received 5 days ago has been absorbed and the cows are back to kicking dust. I am so sorry to have missed Bill Jones, as well well as the rest of our dear friends in Elko. Meanwhile, more of the same, feeding hay.
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