Last journal entry of Hippie Days – July 7, 1974
Alone under the stars, moon, clouds, mountains, and trees.
The wind carries the smells, sounds and heat of the fire.
I calm down, lighten up, breathe in, write poetry.
I call “I love you,” toward the heavens. To whom?
Life. The world. My children. My husband. It doesn’t matter.
This solitude gives me serenity.
I was lonely cooped up in my box in suburbia – four walls and a roof, with only my small children to talk to. I couldn’t breathe. Instead of escaping I withdrew, became sullen, yes, sometimes … Read more...