I've suffered writer's block tonight, but I've waited it out.

When I was in high school, we were supposed to write a paper on Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain. The night before it was due came around, and I had nothing! Could think of nothing to write. So I played with words and and started writing a poem while I waited the writer's block out. Well, I became very taken by this poem-writing, and before long, had a verse of many stanzas about Huck Finn, with a refrain that communicated in words the rhythm of the unending flow of the Mississippi river. By the time it was done, I was emptied, and couldn't write a paper too, and wondered if the teacher would accept a poem instead. (I have to say, I thought it was cheating because it had been so pleasurable it couldn't be home-WORK, right?)

To my surprise, the teacher expressed pleasure and gave me a good grade. I wish I still had the poem. Huckleberry Finn is not just a dried up piece of American folklore. It's a book with great life, and, even with the long journey on the river, it's a book with a storyline, and colorful side stories. It's strongly anchored in the times and the natural characteristics of the river, but also strikes a universal chord. One thing that's sad is that the strong relationship between the motherless white boy and a man who is a runaway slave crumbles as they return to society at the end of the journey. Life on the raft is one world; life on land is another with its imbedded cruelties, deceptions, and expectations.

A couple of questions come to mind: Could a person today take a raft trip from Missouri to the mouth of the Mississippi? I don't know. And, where might one find huckleberries?