A red brick Presbyterian church... captured by kudzu vines as surely as a butterfly in a net. |
The hot, moist smell of babies fresh from naps. |
There is a need to discover that we are capable of solitary joy and having experienced it, know that we have touched the core of self. |
There is a need to find and sing our own song, to stretch our limbs and shake them in a dance so wild that nothing can roost there, that stirs the yearning for solitary voyage. |