Last night, we sat around the fire and listened to our friend read from the Odyssey.
There was something about...
hearing ancient poetry, read around a fire,
from the phone in the palm of his hand.
Not one to enjoy the center of attention, he didn't read long, but it was long enough, late enough, dark enough, to imagine the gathering of souls in ancient times sitting around the fire listening to a blind bard named Homer. That he could make his living as a storyteller adds beautifully to the story.
The moon was out, the lake gently lapped and the fire came from a gas pipe. We had come by car, not horse or wagon, and our beds were waiting upstairs.
There was something about living as a modern, listening to the words from another time--forming community in a circle by a fire, by a lake, in pajamas, and
and after our friend read from an ancient text, talking about climate change.
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