Dreams From The Wood Porch

A stirring of rust colored leaves rise ethereal with clay dust, as the girl child dances under the hazy sun of the afternoon heat. Not yet an Angel gold dipped in sin and prayer; her tinkling laughter is matched by the cicada drone that beats with hypnotic fervor. He rocks back and forth, ceremoniously on… Continue reading Dreams From The Wood Porch

Do we keep some of the sweetest things hidden in a dark place, for fear of losing the rich memory of intimacy; or are we just afraid…

The moments I speak of now are carved deep within the child I once was. The breath of my soul, fearless in the path of the great mystery, I stood proud, in the place of my time; in the place of my knowing. I am Lucinda Mae. I was born and raised in Dusty Spirit… Continue reading Do we keep some of the sweetest things hidden in a dark place, for fear of losing the rich memory of intimacy; or are we just afraid…