That looks like the hand of God, I said, as I sat in my car that day. The fingers outstretched...was He beckoning me to come closer, was he letting me go, was he throwing up his hands in distress, asking me WHY? I don't know.
"Yes, the way I feel about being a woman in the South is the way I feel about the oleander that blooms in June: though it's said that the sap, even brushed against one's skin, is toxic, I carelessly break the branches, stick the ravishing flowers into my hair..."-- Rosemary Daniell
What I'm Reading Now...
Savage Beauty, The Life of Edna St. Vincent Millay