Protege poet child, mother said. Eyes like saucers. Summer life in the valley where magic happened: theater in the attic, goats in the pasture, milking in the barn, proposals on hey, first taste of liquor.
I am one of many, embarking on this experiment. The idea is to write a short piece of poetic prose about 365 people I have encountered in my life, one entry per day for a year, using approximately the number of words, matching my age. I've stopped, then resumed, but I am resolved to take this to the finish line.