In Seattle. At last. My cabin has a wood-burning stove. We walk through forests to the ocean after breakfast. The publishing house is in a state park. Staff meetings call for an opening and closing poem. My life is magic. Do you hear that Provo? Magic. I am making a pot of cinnamon tea; come visit.
oh the deliciousness of cinnamon tea.
ReplyDeletethis sounds so fantastic. I. miss. Seattle.
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