We spent a Saturday morning at the farmer’s market writing poems for market-goers. It was a gorgeous morning, chilly to start but we warmed up quickly after the sun crested the top of the tree line.
Our first-ever market customer was…a poet. There is no better way to kick off a business venture than with our brain’s immediate baptism in imposter syndrome neurochemicals.
Her time at the market was short, as she had a nature walk to attend, so when she returned a few minutes after providing her prompt I suggested that she finish the poem with me.
Oh, she loved the idea, so she sat at the Royal, took up after my first three stanzas, and closed ‘er out. Here she is reading the poem; this is for you, Nora, out walking among the trees.