Sunday This a Year Ago – a typewriter poem

 Some days you remember where you were the last one, a year ago or ten. This Sunday-before-Thanksgiving I remember. . .


Cottonwood behind the round barn at Ojo Caliente, Original photo.


Sunday this a year ago


About wrensong

I am a poet who collects stones. I am a wanderer of creek beds and forests, canyons and high desert who, coming home, sometimes finds words to tell the story. I am a companion with others in the search for Deep, Wild Soul. I shape containers in time and space for others to come together to write, to tell their stories, to hold each other in the telling. I am a grandmother and the companion of a cat named Alaya. I often travel out into open country with a man who calls himself Dunewalker who has hung his hammock in my heart.
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