Some Days Just Noticing
The writing in this collection is born out of ritual: the grinding of coffee beans and the gathering of words, day after day, word after word. A poem to mark each day of the year. The poems come from a quiet place—think firefly rather than fireworks. They arise from what beloved Kingston poet Bronwen Wallace called the stubborn particulars of grace: laundry on the line, streetlamp shadows, March giving way to April. Some days just noticing.
The writing in this collection is born out of ritual: the grinding of coffee beans and the gathering of words, day after day, word after word. A poem to mark each day of the year. The poems come from a quiet place—think firefly rather than fireworks. They arise from what beloved Kingston poet Bronwen Wallace called the stubborn particulars of grace: laundry on the line, streetlamp shadows, March giving way to April. Some days just noticing.
The writing in this collection is born out of ritual: the grinding of coffee beans and the gathering of words, day after day, word after word. A poem to mark each day of the year. The poems come from a quiet place—think firefly rather than fireworks. They arise from what beloved Kingston poet Bronwen Wallace called the stubborn particulars of grace: laundry on the line, streetlamp shadows, March giving way to April. Some days just noticing.
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