And The Ringing In My Ears Is Her Silence
I was born on a hot sweaty day in North Carolina towards the end of the summer of love, 1967. Neither of my parents had any hippie aspirations, no marching on Washington for either of them, as Motown was their groove. From a family, on both sides of the 49th, of rural stock, generation after generation working the land that had passed down to them, … Continue reading And The Ringing In My Ears Is Her Silence