Nightingale by Tony Morris | Wednesday, October 14, 2015 | The Writer's Almanac with Garrison Keillor

When our daughter was a baby, she’d sometimes cry and cry, raw-throated nightingale heavy on evening’s shoulders, no solace in the rocking lullaby, warm milk, blue velvet blanket, nor in the whispered words, the quiet shush we’d loose while pacing back and forth across the wooden floors. Until one night, by chance, we needed diapers,... Read more »

Oct 14, 2015, 05:14 AM
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