Miller Williams a century later would say,
“You’ve got to have the drive.” God knows how she
possessed that. Writing with passion night and day,
lost to food and sleep, only her daily
long runs since childhood nourished her, the Muse
whispering endless imagery, rhythms
and wisdom, nurturing her longhand prose.
After Civil War nursing, holding them
as they died, she fell ill to typhoid yet
survived. Then nothing could stifle her gift,
recalling her youth, those little women
they once were, her self-portrait in Jo, lift
of her clear voice defining solid writing:
She said, “I like good, strong words that mean something.”
Roger Armbrust
June 9, 2020
