Voices on the Wind Open Theme
AIRPORT ENCOUNTER WITH THE POET by Cappy Love Hanson No, Iím no one you should recognize, just one of the crowd whoís come to hear you read a smattering of times over half our respective lives. First time, in a disturbingly meager small-college audienceóa publicity foul-upóyou renowned already, arriving in a hotel shuttle. Last time, The Great Man, chauffeured to the thronged auditorium in the sponsoring foundationís Land Cruiser that probably never climbed anything wilder than an urban curb. That first time, I hesitated behind the crush of autograph seekers, clutching what I still believe the best of your many books, nothing to offer but gratitude I didnít think would balance the scale by half. You reached between strangers, grasped my hand, and towed me forward, thanked me for maintaining eye contact, so the audience didnít look entirely like womenís rapture-shuttered eyes and working jaws, the tops of menís balding heads, the undersides of unshaved chins. See how Iíve toted my astonishment all these years like an airline carry-on, sucked a kind of second-hand adequacy from it. Now itís you to your plane and I to mine. I wish you, for your long-ago and unremembered kindness, immortality beyond that of your poems.