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"The soft music of a touch, the smell, the ardor of the Earth, our Mother, the way it feels to look at you and hear songs, and symphony makes for the way I say your name, and know who you are..."
She looked off into the distance his voice trailing off in her mind down a narrow path in a forest wet with morning dew, and sighed into her feelings. She'd heard herself over time yearn to be loved, appreciated and seen for who she is, but in the presence of it it was more than she was prepared to receive. - Gregory E. Woods 10.7.13
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from Deb Young's gallery
The Piano Lady
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