Walking Words

He emerged from the shadow of some night-on-the-town more than several years ago. He was speaking. He was welcoming me into his world, and respectfully crossing the threshold into mine. He was extending his hand, smile, and laughter to any new friend. No strings that I could see.

A graceful host of his own story and a gracious guest to mine.

Al Black is one of the sparks in this creative community. When I think of him, I see his energy advancing out of the cover of darkness like a lunging arc of surprise. Poet. Storyteller. Gatherer. Thinker. Master of ceremonies. Encourager. Supporter. Aficionado. Boxer. Coach. Father. Husband. Grandfather. Son. Brother.

I caught up with him last week after sundown to try to capture the outline his nature set against the lamplit streets. Just as I would generally prefer it, my ears captured even more than my eyes or my lens.

We walked and talked as I shot here and there. Topics included: Marriage, childhood, music, loss, chance, national and interpersonal politics, life seasons, parenthood, eternity, symbols, Indiana, young love, and young fury.

It was another in a long line of good conversations with him.