Every year that I go to the Oregon Country Fair it brings a different experience. Sometimes I want to do some people watching. Sometimes I'm ready to party. And some years I go with a purpose.
This year felt different again as I seem to have moved into a post-shock-and extreme-depression-but-not-sure-what-comes-next phase of my life. And so I went to the fair to spend time with Qacei more than to experience it myself this year.
The weather was perfect and the people were colorful, extravagant and wonderful as usual. But for some reason I felt out of place. And I couldn't help feeling like I was a part of someone else's fetish at some points. Hard to describe and not something I've felt there before. I think it has a lot more to say about my own state of mind than anything else.
But there was something special waiting for me anyway. The fair brings its own magic and this year didn't disappoint. Because it was at the fair that I became poetry and poetry lived just for me.
As I tried and tried to think of a silly subject to give as the focus of my purchased poem, the beautiful poet suggested I just go with something that's been on my mind lately. So I told her my mom had just died and I was sad, but I was also so happy to be at the fair with my beautiful daughter.
At once her fingers flew across the keys. The words were flowing out of her heart and onto the paper. She stopped only when she was finished, a mere 3 minutes after she started. This is what she gave me.