“ Nashville has always been competitive. My granddaddy called it the Hillbilly Babylon. ”
Then, the door opens and there he is; silhouetted in the hall light. Long hair, long legs, and a heartbeat in tune with my own.
~ Hunter S. Jones
With one perfect kiss on one perfect English summer afternoon, we understand the meaning of all the colors of every rainbow, forevermore.
All writers are manipulative liars. Jack O. Savage, The Poet
Somewhere, a rattlesnake strike makes the dance begin. Three hawks float in the light blue sky overhead. Crows caw and the sweet seduction of lavender fills my head. And she waltzes through my thoughts.
