the days were golden…

just this,  dear friend, from my heart to yours.  the words didn’t find me this week but I wanted to paint you joy and to share the way the last of the zinnias hold the sun soft and close showing us how to soak it in for the cold,  gray days to come and just…

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my wild and precious yes…

Dear God, I heard the shouted “no!”s and flinched inside where you hold and heal me still and I think it get it, this collective wound that rages against the “you” we’ve painted with our broken down lives and it smells like puke, the hurt we do and chills my spine, that sound of windows…

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