At a recent conference in Sonoma, California, I met the poet Jill McDonough.
Most of the conference attendees were architects and designers. I'd flown in from Maryland to show how magnetic resonance imaging can reveal the functional organization of the human brain; she'd flown in from Boston to read poetry at the closing dinner.
Please may I suggest, dear NeuroCooking friends, that you read this poem, then wipe your tears, and buy this book?
[Note regarding post title: The opening of Robert Frost's Directive is repurposed as a line in "Blackwater" from the book "Where You Live."]