In the mountains where I spend my childhood, spring is never warm. The muddy soil is dotted with snow patches, and icicles cling to gutters late into May. It is like glitter on the pavement when they finally fall to the ground, tiny shards of winter shattering in puddles. The afternoon sun licks them up as if they were never there, as if winter hadn’t covered our town or home.
Your writing is so beautiful. I love the design of your site. Reading your words and then scrolling to music and book recommendations is brillinat. Thank you so much!
You literally transported me back to childhood. It's wild how vivid your writing is.
Your writing is so beautiful. I love the design of your site. Reading your words and then scrolling to music and book recommendations is brillinat. Thank you so much!
Kara