More excited to read *this* book than any other in the past year. Tough to say exactomundi why, except that it feels like it might be part Kerouac, a sliver of Le Carre, a tad Gilead (Marilynne), plus a leaf o' Steel Magnolias. A slice of literary worthwhile hours, anticipation says. Craving a silent read from the shelter of a cool old, abandoned barn. That's the official plan. /Btw, photo's a NASA image, Jupiter. Looks kinda sexy... for a planet.

... watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.

Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends.

#BecauseItRocks #PoetryHop #Had2postThis1 #NOiWasNotConsumingVino #WeAreAllJustKids #IsthereAnyoneOutThere ∼awfully curious... as I veritably wonder if I oughta add people here?

There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white,
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.

Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where...

Got stuck in Costco... read this for a few innocent moments and got hooked like absinthe in a Mason jar (chased by fine dark chocolate and smooth jazz on the moonlit beach). 'Tis unfortunate. Any recommendations for this one? It struck me as worth playing hooky from work, but I'm my own boss and too responsible, so I'm merely yearning here. If you've read this baby, how do ya rate it; and why so?

So far, loving this author's flavour! She writes like a designer weaves an idea into her runway-bound garments... although it's richest in subtlety and minor chords; more emphasis on verses than chorus. Characterization here isn't a hiccup effort. I feel the moments' fraught maze of path-building while blindfolded. Yearning desperately to take a jump back into history with them, Narnia style, just for a few seconds (return a couple decades later).

Riveted from the first moment, I'm blissfully delving into the raw pages of this nakedly #intimate tale of yesteryear. By candlelight or by cell phone light, I'm going to cover-to-cover #HennaHouse through power outages or between calls. Hoping its last pages are as infused with soulful inspiration as the first dozens. More incandescent than hit you over the head from the outside, it's the deep roots in the story that so entwine you in Nomi's gem.