Time rolls to a walk and advances in stride with me. I nod to it and tip my hat, and my smile starts as I tell it, "Fine weather we're having. Good day, good day
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I am doing more than I ever could. But there's some blessed sense of being in it and to it. I am drawn aside my perpetually brooding self, and I re-learn to pronounce things outside of their riddles.
Ah. You sweet old blessed soul. Its with joy I read you once again. Thank you for this morning treat, Sharon. Have you begun your book yet? The book I am always encouraging you to write. Perhaps I could come up with a title for it. The Morning After.
It is evening now at my end and I have inevitably lasted late than most of my nocturnal habits. It is as slow and quiet as it can be here and I have begun to find the spaces for breathing. And so, hello, hello, Santha. Thank you, yes, for the generous encouragement that you have once expressed and every now and again remind me of. I have begun a series, I should think, as was determined long ago through 'vagueness and metaphors'. It takes me eternities, perhaps. But I have, for most of it, become thankful for the pace that allows for reinventions before taking shape again.
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Ah. You sweet old blessed soul. Its with joy I read you once again. Thank you for this morning treat, Sharon. Have you begun your book yet? The book I am always encouraging you to write. Perhaps I could come up with a title for it. The Morning After.
W
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The Morning After has a binding sound to it.
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Ah, dear friend, such is how I walk through the tides of each day... the sands of time have turned to water.
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