in search of me. I don’t know, I don’t know where it came from, from winter or a river. I don’t know how or when, no, they were not voices, they were not words, nor silence but from a street I was summoned, from the branches of night, abruptly from the others, among violent fires or returning alone, there I was without a face and it touched me.
- pablo neruda
mid winters dream love letter to the poetry
i was first touched in summer. my mother has met it, my daughters have walked in its parade, it is now my parade. this and this now swim through my veins and is my concern. i have crossed the threshold and i am...
here are poignant moments from it... July to November 2006...
And it was at that age 
