Looking For The Red Notebook

I know that somewhere in this house there is a red notebook.  It has thick, unlined pages with deckle edges.  I bought it more than twenty years ago, when the boys were just babies.  In that book are poems that came to me now and then as the boys grew and as life continued here in sunny West Virginia.  I have some memory about some of the poems – one about a bird’s nest on our back porch; one very long one making the case that there are more than four seasons in West Virginia.  I cannot find the thing anywhere, and the longer I look, the more certain I am that those poems in the book are perfect and would make me rich and famous.

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