Wisconsin lies flat against the wide-mouthed Midwest sky. Once cornfields and dairy farms, mostly subdivision grids now. I have little to say about the place, except that there are some wonderful people living and working hard there. I was honoured to meet some of them via my Waywords typewriter project and my songs…

Madison is a pulsing University town built in spokes around the State Capital building. It huffs and puffs, struggles to make itself heard. I remember my father telling stories about student movements there in the sixties, how it was a liberal haven in the conservative Midwest. I was there on a quiet Saturday though and the loudest form of protest I could locate was a small community garden plot in front of the Capital. Tomatoes grow pretty quietly but say a lot.

I played a small club there then spent the next morning prowling the streets for a good used book store. I found it, complete with it’s fifty-something grey-haired owner, vinyl soundtrack, and shadowed light. I bought a book of poems and promised to come back next time. Bookstores are like pubs, you find your favourites in every city and always return.

I didn’t write anything in that town. Just walked and wandered and found those tomato plants.