Since 1977 I have written in my heart every sorrow, every loss, every slight, every fury. I have watched and listened until it cost me almost everything. Yet somehow I always found still more at the bottom of my purse.
Along the way, there have been such joys. I felt exhilaration with the thunder, the fire, and the earthquake. I've thrilled to cuisine, to music, to the company of men. I've cried at the exquisite perfection of a sudden Spring rain. I marveled at the beauty inherent in every face on a mid-town bus. I have carried the dying to their graves and the newborn from their cribs.
There are times I feel I have always been.
Voices carry, but they come and go. I remain to scribe the lusts and follies, the bonhomie and battles, the history and future of us all in this, the Book.