Stick to strings the viola takes the lead-- falls and rises at the skylight over her bed; A back-and-forth bow draws her out of hiding like a note of scripture plucked off the bed table, a pencil whisper under morning covers. Night terrors clang. Brassy cymbals, they crash and fade-- out played by the hand-strung pacific rain. ...By the grace of God I am what I am... Paul to the church at Corinth (15:10)
Hi, I'm Laurel. I live on five acres in the foothills of the Cascades where I'm daily restored by God's creation in the midst of chronic fatigue and fibromyalgia. After studying the arts in London, I taught at the University of Washington while earning my Masters of Arts in the performance of literature. I am the retired founder of Over the Moon Storytelling. My published article won second prize in the nationally renowned Amy Foundation writing contest.