we were working hard to put in the show

it was a hot summer

i wandered back stage in search of a beer

and stumbled on an old blind man and his son

sitting in a corner on folding chairs

guitars across their laps

the old man turned toward me

eyes flat frosted gray seeing nothing visible to me

“howdy. you workin’ the show?”

i admitted this was so

“beers in the cooler. sit for a spell.”

i sat while the din of the stage hands

played background to our talk

of music, farming and family

he and his son played and sang a couple of tunes

i stood to leave

“you workin’ the show tonight?”

“yes, the follow spot,” i said

he laughed

“be pretty easy. i don’t move around much.”

that night the house was full

music filled the hall

people roared cheered applauded

i leaned on my high railing

spotlight fixed in place

a day to remember

for so it was

Copyright Michael Douglas Scott