Tag: Writing Life

“Harrison looks at her loves, and knows, instinctively. This, this is it. She’d searched the vast landscape, without a map, the rough, scary terrain swallowing her whole. Harrison’s dusty, torn backpack pushed aside, on a shelf in the attic. Twenty years, ache and itch all gone. No running. Destination arrived. Despite the pit stops, fires, sinkholes, pimps, mistakes, lone railways and scars. It was worth it. The backyard lit up like a redneck Christmas, Harry didn’t mind. “I’m hungry, let’s get this show on the road. Addie, bring the radio. You can play your song, baby. As loud as you like.” Let There Be. Light. Let There Be. Family. Let There Be. Love.”