What I remember about the first Mudcat song circle in Toronto was how even those that didn't sing contributed to the magical circle of all those faces and voices just by being there, faces and voices that some part of me was somewhat stunned to discover actually existed and weren't just names. I like to think that the members of the Mudcat who have passed on are still participants, silent perhaps, but continuing, contributing members of that ever-widening circle that Emerson talks about -- the circle whose circumference more and more extends its reach over the horizon, bending far away out of our sight, before it curves back, in its return to its ultimately unbroken completion.