i got back yesterday from a trip to northeast arkansas to bury mama moss' ashes. 8 adults and 1 roly-poly-rolled-in-sugar baby gathered from kansas, new mexico, virginia, and california. we stayed in 2 cabins in the blooming woods of the big cedar lodge. we made good food, built fires, played games, and yacked into the night. my brother, ray, read a poem that made us all teary and reach for our tissue. some of us went trecking down dirt roads trying to find our old house and almost got simultaneously shot & stuck in the mud. i won't say who. someone else stopped to ask a hitchhiker for directions. a few of us sketched each other. next year i'm bringing mini-sketchbooks for everyone cause as you know the very best sketches are always made by those who "can't draw".
i set my alarm for 2:45 am on tuesday so i could see the magnificent lunar eclipse. the stars were brilliant in the cold clear air. jupiter & mars shone like beacons, and the deep red moon glowed like a hot coal in the velvety black sky above the trees. a perfect ending to a wonderful gathering.
i'm already looking forward to the next moss family revival next spring. here's part of the poem my brother read at our little DIY service. the complete version is HERE.
Tucked away in our subconscious minds is an idyllic vision in which we see ourselves
on a long journey that spans an entire continent. We're traveling by train and, from the
windows, we drink in the passing scenes of cars on nearby highways, of children waving at
crossings, of cattle grazing in distant pastures, of smoke pouring from power plants, of row
upon row upon row of cotton and corn and wheat, of flatlands and valleys, of city skylines and