“For the poet is a light and winged and a holy thing and there is no invention in him until he has been inspired and is out of his senses, and the mind is no longer in him: when he has not attained to this state, he is powerless and is unable to utter his oracles. “ — Plato.

 

Lately, I have been exploring the corner of the basement where I spent much of my time at night writing things, most of them in notebooks both big ones and little ones. Now I’m trying to restore some of that.

Things come to mind spurred by something, but before long, and if I haven’t written it down, its gone.

I ran into a small notebook where on the back cover of a page is written: “Much of the wisdom of the world is not wisdom, and the most illuminated class of men are no doubt superior to literary fame, and are not writers.”

The once upon a time Eberhart house is kiddy corner from where we live. That’s where he dwelled in the early days of life.

Speaking of that Eberhart wrote a poem in 1926 that reads: “Life should be lived expending energy in ideas and movements rather than on people.”

I think a statue of Richard Eberhart would be nice sitting on a bench along the walkway to the high school with Eberhart facing downtown, perhaps with a student sitting beside him listening. He needs to be remembered.

In the meantime we have managed to survive in Austin without deep snow. It doesn’t seem right. Nor does the cold wind do much especially when you are walking a small dog like Fred shaking with his little overcoat that isn’t quite an overcoat.

He searches for squirrels that always seem to get away and has now put the run on a rabbit two different times out of that little bitty small woods north of the A & W. Twice now he has come close to capturing him or her.

Mello says hi.