Today I can’t help but weep for such a powerful, dignified, honest voice gone from this world. But I haven’t read any more of Maya Angelou than your average 20-something has done. What I have read I’ve loved, but I can’t say I am “familiar.” Her words aren’t my relatives, my companions. They are my fond acquaintances, I have visited infrequently. But I weep. Because a voice like hers is rare. Even nominal awareness belies her profound grasp on what it means to be a human. And today has been colored with her work and her style and her laugh and her story. I have heard “Still I Rise” three…
A fundamentalist turned freedom chaser with an obnoxiously stubborn faith.