Captured by the blue grass on the lawn we lay in the sunshine of banjo rhythms harmonica and Kentucky pain and pleasure gathers our world in the shambles of a grind guttural delivered from a foot stomping stage you can’t bury us in the memory of winter spent it is a sweet Indian summer, sticky…
Indian Summer
It was a miracle day a month ago, a hot miracle of an Indian summer when Ben and I went for ice cream and, in reliving a special memory, we created one even more special. Over the last few months, but really over the last couple of years, I’ve been contemplating writing a book, one that will…