Join Sherri and her husband on a wonderful trip to beautiful Italy.
September arrived and with it, any thoughts of writing vanished. My birthday; a long-awaited holiday. Both beckoned. But somewhere in the space between early spring and autumn’s first flush, everything blurred into one big smudge of I can’t face it.
We heal, eventually, from family illness and loss, but scars do not disappear. And something, at some point, has to give, even if only for a short while. My long-burn writing dream never died, but in the deep, silent part of me, my ability to focus, to write, lay in tatters.
So I retreated into long walks by the sea and drinking wine in my garden, listening to the birds singing their sweet September song. I offered up my writing, like a bird held gently in both hands, and I let it go and watched it fly away.
And then, with gentle persuasion, I took Hubby’s hand and I flew…
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