In an Irish kitchen on a winter mid-night, a guitar was passed around, turns were taken at the piano, and a friend of a friend read his poetry. At one point he found himself weeping, moved by his own memory. This, I thought, is what I want. Bravery and emotion and connection. Words and words and words.

 

 

courtney@peaceintheneon.com

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

courtney lavender