An excerpt from the Dedication of Stacey’s memoir,
“Pine Melody”
I awaken before sunrise into a liminal state, a fugue of undifferentiated form, a moment pregnant with possibility. I linger here hoping that my son Jonah will emerge, thick with seafoam from the sea of dreams, and float into my consciousness. I await the flickering light in his hazel eyes, the warm notes of his dulcet voice. Seconds or eons pass before dream fragments are carried out on the tide like flotsam. A slight vibration arrives with the dawn, and I know he is out there, waiting for my fingertips to press against his…
Stacey Meadows 