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He read for an hour, looking up every now and then to see raccoons and possums scurrying near the creek. At nine-thirty he closed the book, went upstairs to the bedroom, and wrote in his journal, including both personal observations and the work he’d accomplished on the house. Forty minutes later, he was sleeping.
so me
he stuttered badly as a child and was teased for it. He began to speak less and less, and by the age of five, he wouldn’t speak at all.
me
Poets knew that isolation in nature, far from people and things manmade, was good for the soul, and he’d always identified with poets.
“I don’t care what my parents think, I love you and always will,” she would say. “We’ll find a way to be together.”
purr
