In the Carolina foothills words sit thick in the jaw. Vowels are long and flat, consonants rough, syllables sometimes inferred rather than enunciated. We shed our words slow, sometimes reconsidering them even as they slip from our lips. When I tell people I grew up in the rural South, one of the first things they ask is where my accent has gone. […] Continue Reading…
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If you find me scratching among the weeds, like as not I am exhuming some loamy filament and trying to tell whether it’s yours or mine. […] Continue Reading… You are like the night, with its stillness and constellations. |
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"There are times I've wished I said all the folly in my heart and not the wisdom in my head." ~ A.J. Roach |
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