In yesterday’s Flashback Friday, I revisited a story I wrote four years ago—about a sledding mishap that ended with me breaking through the crust of a snow-covered lake of frozen chicken shit.
Your poem holds so much quiet thunder. And I think we’re doing the same thing, Robert, in different forms, really, advocating for the recognition of invisible strings.
Your poem holds so much quiet thunder. And I think we’re doing the same thing, Robert, in different forms, really, advocating for the recognition of invisible strings.
I’ve thought that about before. It's like watching a puppet show... once you see the strings, you can't unsee them. 😊
Indeed, and it’s everywhere.
Unbecoming. ❤️