I finished reading Living by the Word – I only had one essay left – but each sentence no longer carried the same inspiring vitality; the words fell subdued, dampened and flat in my mind that ran with a cacophonous array of thoughts. The purple tones of the pressed flowers seemed to be more faded than they once were. I could, and would, never look at Alice Walker the same, read her work in the same way or perhaps even read her work at all…