She said my prose reads like a dance, that my words flow, dip, and twirl in graceful elegance. So touched by her words was I, I might never be the same. My words dance! To find the tempo, the grace of sole to floor, fingertip on key, pen against page. She speaks of what I know, have waited a lifetime— this dance. To phrases birthed in the pulse of the sea; awakened by a babe’s sudden cry, June sunsets; the […]
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