I write in order to find voice.
One cricket, louder than his brethren.
All night, dozens of crickets who appreciate my diminished gardening zeal.
Four more days, summer. Why so quiet?
Canvas or camera or clay—the ones who discover their true voices thus.
There will come a day, soon, when the autumn breeze is just too much for us, and the wind chimes are moved to their winter home in the basement.
Voice. Definition(s) of. Today, Saturday, September 16, 2017, at the Dimmick Inn, Milford, Pennsylvania, 2:00-4:00. A panel discussion, with lots of poetry included. Free. All are welcome. Bring questions. Bring your voice.
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