Many years ago he’d decided that, much like God, poetic love wasn’t real. But that left no explanation for what had come squirting out of Jack’s eyes in a complete stranger’s living room at the mere mention of his wife’s name? What was it that could arouse such a palpable memory from a weathered postcard? What was it that had brought a renewed smile to his wrinkled old face the moment his mind was allowed to detach itself from the realities of the present heartbreak, if not love? Pg. 74
Post 4: SG
Elijah was surprised by her crisp responses. He hadn’t met anyone else in Natchez that didn’t drone on and on with the slightest prompting on practically nothing. He wasn’t sure how many questions with single sentence answers he could come up with to avoid the awkward silence alternative. Pg. 61
Post 3: SG
“Art is fashioned by the hands but created in the heart,” Jared reflected. Pg. 43
Gerred Lee 