Lucky few chosen to arrowhead
with Abe, the Candy Maker,
and to become members of the most
exclusive club in my home town.
Many asked, some nagged,
but a special entree from Morrie the Mentor,
his regular partner,
had to pave the way.
With the whispered news of selection
came the long wait for the right day.
In the Spring the uncovering winds blew
away the sand
and it was the time to go.
In the Summer the rains washed the
stone clean of disguising dirt
and it was the time to go.
In the Winter the melting snow left the
flint tools teed up for easy picking
and it was the time to go.
In the Fall and Indian Summer
hunting in the golden sunshine
was more important than finding
and this was not the time to go.
But the newcomer was initiated in the Fall
to test his commitment.
Finding nothing
and being eager for the next
expedition was a sign of potential.
Walking silently and alone,
eye on the ground,
turn over stick moving as a third leg,
and never shouting in glee at a find
nor sharing success till the end of the day
were carved in stone rules
to be learned by careful observation
of the Mentor and Candy Maker.
Miles walked in the passing years
and Candy Man's collection grew.
Each find a durable memory from another's life,
a forever story in stone,
a 200 years historical fiction told the
silent finder.
Now the Candy Maker hunts elsewhere
but his earthly finds are in the museum.
Those who view the collection can not share
what the stone said to the Candy Maker.
But each item in the museum case has
a 20th century story.
And Candy Man was the link that made it so.