Certain places or memories evoke a sense of calm and peace in my life. Pine forest after a deep snowfall. Marconi Beach on a July morning. A labyrinth at the top of a mountain. A seat on the third baseline of any baseball field – with or without a game to watch.
Each of these places may reveal a liminal space, a slim light between two worlds of the known and the unknown, a view into the timeless. Maybe it comes from ghosted voices buried in a fan. Or a streak of light over the mountain labyrinth. Or the crack of a line drive that streaks past the shortstop’s glove, a split second too late. Or love that kindles while piecing together a beer label. It is that space I seek as a poet.
David Walsh grew up in rural upstate New York and spent his career working for local and State government. His interests include history, baseball, and the social and economic impact of technology. His work has been greatly influenced by poetry workshops at the Chautauqua Institution, and by work done with his weekly writers’ group. David and his wife, Pam, live in the capital region of New York.