Poetry, notes, and drawings by William Michaelian
As I read these lovely words a story unfolded in my mind. I saw and old farmhouse. The glass in the window grown cloudy and etched by the endless blowing of the winds across the open fields. An elderly woman standing at this window, as the summer breeze gently plays with and blows the old lace curtains aside. She reaches for them with hands grown gnarled and rough from age and hard work, closes the window, and watches as the old lace curtains fall silently back in place~~~
Beautiful, Jan. I think you’ve saved my little offering, and me in the process. Thank you.
Nice... Wind and Lace. All of us know them.
Thank you, Donna.
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