It turns out

The sweater is just a sweater. The coffee shop is a place I have been many times, with many people. And today it is three years but I will not weep for that.

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Gleaning

And when the margaritas hit, he performed a one handed push up show, the dog racing around him in delight.  We both wove ourselves into the hanging lights, and revelled in each other and the warm, skylit evening.  

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Show me the money

And to those with their nose in their wallets, I raise my cup high. That kind of discontent is not to be held, nor will it be caught by me.  The only blessing to which I assign value is this peace, this beautiful peace that tells me that nothing was lost.  All is, as it should be.  

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Grace

Now, judgement and want are curiously similar.  I have something in my hand – something received – and I might witness how it changes me.  I remain, both filter and vision.  

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Tips

I want it all
and hold what moves
of its own accord
as my hand finds
the balance of play.

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Do you? Are you?

Do you move in a new way that allows for pause and pace so that when you look back you will smile with tears in your eyes at your own strength and bravery, in what you have released . . . in what you have handed to others . . . and what has come back to you, changed by its path?

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Naked Banjo

I’m pretty sure he wasn’t naked.  More likely wandering my house in his underwear, hammer and clawing his favourite instrument just as the mood struck.  It was quite something to have that banjo around, and the wave of a man that came with it.  

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