Ken Saunders
2 min readJan 18, 2019

Fleeing velvet walls of pristine night. The journey aided by the wailing baby’s cry.

Moving, gliding half-aware of prying eyes and misforgotten deeds. I slide thorough this incarnation, a journey on the back of sea turtles and uprooted flowers.

You cannot see how real this is.

You cannot connect with the distance traveled, yet

Ken Saunders

Born in New York, schooled in the Berkshires, Became an adult in L.A., found my Soul in Seattle. Been writing & drinking copious amounts of coffee since 2012.