Winds carry seeds to places unknown, where they will bury themselves deep in some new soil and wait patiently for the perfect time to rise—“Scarlet Freight,” according to one of my favorite poets, Emily Dickinson. Plants seem to have a special magic. So simple a thing to watch a plant grow, and yet so mysterious, especially the way each one has the potential of creating another.
Such, I envision, are the stories you hold in your hands right now. Each one has its own life, but within it is a seed that might find gentle conditions for growth within your own world. The events and the encounters herein are all true, with a little staking here or a bit of pruning there. They are parts of my life. Small things, really. Just seedlings.
--from the Preface
Such, I envision, are the stories you hold in your hands right now. Each one has its own life, but within it is a seed that might find gentle conditions for growth within your own world. The events and the encounters herein are all true, with a little staking here or a bit of pruning there. They are parts of my life. Small things, really. Just seedlings.
--from the Preface