Patti’s porch …
My friend Patti’s porch in Williamsville, Vermont, is one of those places in the world that forms still life images that are indelible.
I’ve sat on it, in winter and summer, spring and fall, but it never quite leaves me.
When I was there last, the remaining vestiges of winter were still apparent. And yet I gamely insisted on wearing my summer Keds, despite the mud.
As a writer’s retreat, it was a perfect place with just the right amount of mist to shroud me as I strung together the words I needed to propel me that much further into my book, A History Of Women’s Boxing.
Now that it’s actually sitting with the publisher, I carry the images from Patti’s porch as some sort of proof that writing is a labor of love, no matter what its purpose.
A road to travel.
Maybe to arrive some place and maybe not.
The porch awaits you, always. Glad you went the distance and did it all on your own without a corner man except for the Big Guy and dear daughter. The book is anxiously awaited even by this gal who can’t even claim to be able to throw a few pitty-patti punches.
Thank you, Patti! :))