The sun shines. The flag somewhat detached from the flagpole, flutters when the wind gusts. Moses lies on the porch at the south side of the house. I just took the tea bag out of my mug.
I am ready for the familiar rhythm of the house to begin.
Anyone who has ever heard me play the uke knows rhythm isn't my strength. I would give myself a solid D in simple strumming, but my style is unique. So goes the rhythm of my days.
What a time it has been. My older daughter has flown away to her home, to be missed until Christmas. Thanksgiving, a Swiss Chalet, order in, delight is one more unusual holiday for the memory book. The birth of a beautiful baby boy, filling Grandmas arms perfectly, and the wounded body of his momma, the death of a longtime companion take up pages in the book as well.
When I have been away for a while, I bring home new insights from new experiences that in time will be woven into a tapestry of what it is to be me. This I know. The lives of those I love most give a priceless richness to the fabric.
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