Ode on intimations of immortality…

Just a little Love tonight from the Oregon coast and my first Lover, William Wordsworth.  As a little girl, I remember stealing from my mother’s book shelf, stacks of classic romantics.

But William was the first theft.

He and I conceived my passion for books.  Real books.  From the ornamented bindings, the textured ink, the earthy musk of page on page, and to the endless gift giving of their content.

This poem was truly my first kiss.

Happy Tuesday, my friends.

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