From my point of view the world has no horizon, a person is known by her feet, the road is a slow rolling river of dust.
Read MoreWhen I met her, she was sitting in a rocking chair on a front stoop just big enough for her chair, a pot of red geraniums, a mat that did not say welcome, and me.
Read MoreHere are the things I need to be ready: Boots that fit, Socks that give the boots a little room for error…
Read MoreHer hands speak. The skin is smooth, even at her age, polished by time and care.
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