At birth, a poetic muse landed on my shoulder.
She hovered, following me for years, whispering sweet words, guiding my thoughts and later my fingers across the page.
I didn’t recognize her in my youth, not until her wings touched me with miracles in motion: so noisily, so joyfully and tastefully that I could no longer ignore her.
That was my writer’s aha moment.
That was when I saw the hand of G-d, Yad Hashem.
It was then that I discovered words that fill vacant spaces in places that we dwell, words embraced by Torah light.
She hovered, following me for years, whispering sweet words, guiding my thoughts and later my fingers across the page.
I didn’t recognize her in my youth, not until her wings touched me with miracles in motion: so noisily, so joyfully and tastefully that I could no longer ignore her.
That was my writer’s aha moment.
That was when I saw the hand of G-d, Yad Hashem.
It was then that I discovered words that fill vacant spaces in places that we dwell, words embraced by Torah light.
journey through a woven tapestry of words
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