Our shearer, slate worker, and good friend Ian McRae, came for dinner tonight. It’s become an almost weekly happening.

He brought good news along with a new poem; he is applying to a Vermont college to take a poetry course, a massive step in his steady and determined effort to make his love of poetry permanent and look ahead and down the road to a writing career; however, he can do it.

Ian needs to be amongst his people and draw encouragement and ideas from other poets; he’s found a good place to do it.

He is hardly recognizable to us as the very shy and insecure shearer who confided his love of poetry but was afraid to say so out loud or show his poems to strangers.

He has come a long way; he is no longer that kid. His confidence is growing by the day; he is writing poetry steadily, attends two poetry club readings, and is exploring a college course in poetry and creative writing.

He is part of our family and comes over for dinner almost weekly. Maria and I are both very fond of him; he is always welcome and fun.

He even brought a new poem he wrote one night and then spilled some coffee.

Ian’s new poem was written in his living room.

It’s Ian’s birthday Saturday, and I gave him a present, an industrial kind of lamp in honor of Thomas Edison. He could use some light in his small apartment in Granville, N.Y.

We are fortunate to have Ian in our lives; the three of us enjoying the warmest evenings over dinner with Ian, laughing and trading stories and arguing about creativity. I love it. I love him.