Come to the Leelanau Township Library tonight at 7:30 p.m., with a poem or poems of your own to read to the gathered multitude (don’t I wish!), or simply come to listen to, laugh with pleasure over, and applaud the poems of others. Poetry Night is pure enjoyment. You’ll be among friends, even if you haven’t met any of them before, and there is no pressure at all to perform—or, if you do, to come off like Shakespeare. There are no lower or upper age limits. If you’re a little afraid of poetry, dare yourself to do something different: come and listen and let the words wash over you like a fresh summer rain. As my grandmother used to tell me when the clouds opened and we didn’t have an umbrella with us, “You’re not sugar—you won’t melt!” Or maybe you are and will, but it will feel good.
Late yesterday afternoon we trekked around Grand Traverse Bay (stopping at Altonen’s farmstand to buy a peach praline pie) all the way to Eastport, where our friend Micki gave her annual piano recital for, and served home-cooked Greek dinner to, friends from as far away as South Haven. Strains of Bach, Hayden and Chopin drifted through the house and out the windows across the lawn on the soft summer air, the last rays of the setting sun streaming across the Bay from the west. Traffic was light on our way home, and we took a detour through the town of Elk Rapids, lively with bicycles at dusk. Little Paradise Pines looked like tourist cabins from the 1940’s. “You could make a film there,” David commented. Another of my favorite motels to spot is the Crestwood in Acme. In my eyes, these modest places have so much character that I treasure each surviving example. Passing the state park campground in Traverse City, we remarked the odor of campfire smoke, evocative of so many memories.
The evening shimmered, evanescent.
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