A Southern Voice
The first voice to caress my infant ears rolled with such lyrical beauty that I’m offended by other accents to this day. It soothed in its quicksilver fluidity, lacked hard edges, and whispered in promises so compelling it could turn the most resistant of souls into a willing adherent. I know now that sound travels queerly and can double back upon itself in time. I often hear the voice of my Southern mother when I least expect it; it comes to me more as reminder than recollection, and carries a way of being in the world along a template so firmly etched that its resonance is guiding and indelible.
For Complete Piece:
Claire Fullerton Author 
Claire, this is a most tender homage to your mother and the grace of her Southern origins that makes you who you are, and it is indeed wonderful and enough.
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How lovely and poetic of you, Sharon. I can hear a beautiful cadence in the construction of your comment! Thank you so very much!
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This is a lovely essay, Claire. I’m happy (if late) to have spotted it. Hugs.
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