Imaging a reason so many writers have written in this lovely town with which we are smitten.
By Rachel Hoyt
Might some magic be in the soil,
Flowing to writers while writing,
Making imaginations boil?
Do the trees whisper inspiring
Words as leaves flutter to the ground –
Thoughts of those past and residing?
There are plentiful pens around,
To capture the most resilient,
Inscribe their thoughts to be found –
There’s T.C. Boyle, Ashley Brilliant,
Barnaby Conrad, Fannie Flagg,
Sue Grafton, and Steve Martin’s two cents;
Rolling past ghosts down the main drag –
Ancestors like Bacon, Rexroth,
Lewis, Clark, and Stevenson – nags,
Attempting to cling like a moth
To the pure flame of creativity
Dying while boiling in a new broth.
Soiled with people’s proclivities,
The soil slyly writes this city.