I am allowed gardens to behold, but not gardens to tend— I was given a gardener’s soul, but not a gardener’s hand.
Bryant Vielman Bryant Vielman

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Writing leads me, with a flashlight in hand, on eerily deep descents. Down rickety stairways and cold-draft corridors. Writing leads me, with a flashlight in hand, to the pits of my consciousness— the bowels of my being where light doesn
Bryant Vielman Bryant Vielman

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