Ready to Make Friends with Poetry? ⟶
September in the Pacific Northwest is a glory all its own. The soft and subtle glow of the sun sits right side of my shoulder. Stuck in bumper to bumper traffic cars move at a close and constant pace while I relish the music washing over me from the speakers. Grateful to not be harried…
My brothers are strumming their guitars in my sister’s living room and I’m thinking of the miracle of it all, how our mother loved to sing and each of these men taught themselves to play beautiful music because of that gift and their love for words and song. The miracle is I’m here to witness…