THROUGH ROSE COLORED GLASSES AND BIONIC EARS
1 of 4
Sixty One Days.
“…On the night you were born, the moon smiled with such wonder that the stars peeked in to see you; And the night wind whispered, “Life will never be the same…” – Nancy Tillman
As I begin to write, my mind, like untouched snow reflecting off the sun, has brightly begun dancing volumes. Although much different than tap and ballet in childhood, this type of groove feels more like sorting through a variation of the Waltz. Spin, turn, weave, whisk and chasse. A single pair linked closely, creating waltzing waves kissing a tumultuous shore.
Picture that with a Kodak.
Ten with twenty.
That’s how many years have passed and grays I now have since the compelling desire to draft a self-help memoir such as this. There may very well be “Chapter Ones” filed…
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