The unlettered, untutored generation
sits around a campfire, sticks in hand,
writing in the sand, rubbing out their
philosophical discourses as they go.

The children sit in chairs close to
the fire. Their sticks hold marsh-
mallows which they put in and take
out of the fire hoping for a light

brown crust. They listen to their
elders, take it all in and remember
what was said long after the sand
scrawls have been scratched away.

*Indebted to Robert Morgan’s
Squatting