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Women Just Keep Marching...it's so good, and so bad. Some thoughts (i.e. many thoughts)

I have been reading an enormous narrative non-fiction for the last few months. I never pick up books this big because I always give up halfway and get distracted when my next book arrives in the mail. This is a genuine dysfunction in my life. But someone I respect a great deal recommended this massive book to me so I went to Barns and Nobel to make the purchase. This is a Pulitzer Prize winner by Isabel Wilkerson titled, The Warmth of Other Suns. Sidenote: Buy it and read it. Take it in. Let it order your perspectives on the racial issues we face in a day and age where the media yanks us every which way. Wilkerson writes about the Great Migration of the blacks from the south to the north and

Every Shell I Find is Cracked, Just Like Me.

The Earth is a storyteller. Wind, leaves, sand, sky...these are poets and preachers. If I wait and listen, metaphors surge up and call me back to the supernatural. I have done my share of vacillating between doubt and belief. But after this especially long drift, I’m ready to rest on an anchor-secured ship. The rough seas have made me queasy. And just when I feel disconsolate, Nature shares a parable. I headed to the Jersey shore, alone, to untangle my wild heart. In the fall and winter, Ocean City has no busyness, no summer runners, no bikers balancing Malone’s donuts on the handlebars, no kites dipping and spinning in the sky; off-season is a different kind of getaway. The air has a chill

©2020 by Dawn Poulterer-Woods