Focused on writing voice this morning, Augustine’s and others mentioned in weblogs around the way. It brings me to awareness of a mid-August summer day here in New England and what it sounds like, what it says.
Nowhere else is this language spoken exactly such as this, having its own colloquialisms in twirps and hums and an underlying buzz that says the sun is hot, no breeze to cut through and diffuse the scent and touch and taste and sound of this near end-of-summer day.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology