 | | 16/03/2015 14:32
Sur le blog Amy Nelson
banjos and bird nests
It is Sunday morning and the beginning of spring has turned the ends of bare branches into baby sized buds. I feel most alive when the white snow sails away with the wind, revealing the hidden earth where flowers and grasses are meant to grow. It is my time for planning the garden which will be bountiful and present during summer, the other season that makes the world feel bright and far from grim. I have been hammering fingers and palms against my banjo while seated on couches, bar seats and carpeted flooring. I miss the feeling of a banjo skin warmed by the sun. I long to hear banjo strings echo beside tall trees and the squirrels dropping pine cones....
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