Deborah Reardon --Author of Blue Suede Shoes
I know . . . the oft-missed stuff of everyday life gets magnified in the fresh mountain air and the still of the forest. My breath was taken away . . . literally, I trudged huffing and puffing up a steep incline. This is not a - stop and smell the roses - lecture that has my head spinning (part of it is the high altitudes) – because most of us relegate our reflective zones to vacations. I’ve a bone to pick with the intrusion of (not the usefulness of) technology - because who could argue the magnificent medical advances and educational enhancements and such. But when did paying attention mean – as long as no one notices the handheld device on ones lap at a conference? It’s the elbow by the parent next to us to look up because our kid is up to bat, that kind of stuff. It wasn’t the vistas or the golden Fall leaves on this outdoor adventure that had me reeling, I’ve been noodling over this subject for some time, a long time in fact. Ever since a poet at a writer conference ...