
Think of this as a single evening where someone you trust opens the door of their mind and lets you wander through. Matthew Rohrer’s A Green Light is poetry, yes, but it’s also the kind of conversation you remember later on a bus, in a park, or standing in your kitchen. He starts with a soup-green pond and a warning voice, then walks us among countrymen and outcasts, through bodily aches, office life, and the odd comedy of being both too big and too fragile. A mentor appears by a stand of gold trees, a party by the sea turns into a brief loss of language, and a tiny person darts across a road, twice, reminding us that mystery can be real and unthreatening. We leave the city for the Shenandoah, where whippoorwills echo and tadpoles begin their short war with being alive. The book also wanders back to church, to a professor who pours holy water into the ocean and declares it all holy, and to a playful submarine race where messages crackle and hearts get battered. There’s a family thread too: a young grandfather in Manila, the heat dissolving clothes, and a silence that follows soldiers home. This AudiobookHub script turns the book into a continuous spoken story—a gently guided tour of images and feelings—so you can stay with it and feel it unfold.