A poetic response

My long-time friend Miguel Guhlin left the following comment on my recent post “I miss snow”: 

I miss the snow, too. Having grown up in Panama, I miss the idea of it. I miss the blizzard where evil dwells, the snow flurries that obscure my vision, the slip and slide of wheels on an uncertain path. I miss the snowplows making their way up the avenue, the snowmen gathered on the lawn. I miss the snowflakes, one and all, like a banker misses his coin.

But then, when sadness gathers six feet deep at my door, my tears forming crystals on my cheeks, I remember, I grew up in the summer humid heat of Panama. Snow is but a dream, where mosquitoes are unborn, iguanas wouldn't be caught dead without a borrowed fur coat. I remember that dark rainstorms, drops so large they can kill a baby frog, renew the pools where tadpoles spawn, form the ocean waves. I see them once more, those summer days, bereft of snow, and I miss the sun of my youth.

Now that the chill is gone, I wonder what I will dream for tomorrow. A day without sun in another land, a grey overcast day without a blanket of snow. I wonder what I will dream of, the future or the past, or will I have a dreamless sleep, empty of expectation and sun and snow, and all that men dream when the earth wraps its arms around them.

Let the snow go, friend, and ask instead, "Where are your dreams gone?" (Reposted here with permission

Miguel is a prolific writer (see his blog Another Think Coming) and thoughtful thinker about education and technology. I’ve known this for a long time. What I didn’t realize was that Miguel is a poet as well.

As all good writing should do, Miguel’s clever, mystical response to my post made me reflect, made me think about things I might not otherwise have considered. I was, quite frankly, a bit mesmorized.

Why don’t we respond lyrically more often? Would we be more convincing, more sympathetic? Might others pay more attention to us if the style of the message was as interesting as the content?

Thanks, Miguel, for not just moving my brain a bit, but nudging my heart as well.