Volume No. XVIII
Volume No. XVII
Volume No. XVI
Volume No. XV
Volume No. XIV
Volume No. XIII
Volume No. XII
Volume No. XI
Volume No. X
Volume No. IX
Volume No. VIII
Volume No. VII
Volume No. VI
Volume No. V
Volume No. IV
Volume No. III
Volume No. II
Volume No. I
Archives
Volume No. I
Volume No. II
Volume No. III
Volume No. IV
Volume No. V
Volume No. VI
Volume No. VII
Volume No. VIII
Volume No. IX
Volume No. X
Volume No. XI
Volume No. XII
Volume No. XIII
Volume No. XIV
Volume No. XV
Volume No. XVI
Volume No. XVII
Volume No. XVIII
I didn't notice the shades of green as sunlight splatters the tree leaves. nor did I listen to the deep rumble of sudden thunder storms that rolled across the Blue Ridge Mountains.
Before I didn't notice the sweet facial expression of my granddaughter, when I let her smell a flower or the look of love she gave me, when I held her and gave her a bottle.
Now, sunny days make me feel like dancing, and when someone gives me a bear hug, I accept it and let it go straight to my heart. Before, I didn't feel the richness
in my closest relationships, nor did I know how to accept love. In my darkest hours, I learned about unconditional, genuine love as my Maker comforted me.
As bad as breast cancer was, it was a great teacher.
Glenda Barrett, a native of North Georgia is an artist, poet and writer. Her work is widely published including, Woman's World, Farm and Ranch Living, Chicken Soup for the Soul, Country Woman, and Journal of Kentucky Studies. Her art is online at Fine Art America, and her first chapbook, When the Sap Rises was published in 2008.
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