Some places are of no use. They remind us that not everything in life needs to be of use. Take poetry.  The meadows near Cardamom County remind me daily of this poem by Robert Duncan.

Often I Am Permitted to Return to a Meadow
as if it were a scene made-up by the mind,
that is not mine, but is a made place,

that is mine, it is so near to the heart,
an eternal pasture folded in all thought
so that there is a hall therein Continue reading →