By Liz Mayers
“Sit here in the moon light,” Grandma said, “Let it do its work.” I challenged her. “No,” she’d said. “No proof it does any good.” I often sat with Grandma on the porch in the moon light. Now, every month, my daughter meets me on our back step. We sip tea. In silence. In the moon light.
“I write about things I long for.” – the writer