You, me, and a sprinkling of friends. Just the way life should be. Heads close, the true meaning of the words lost in the moment. Files way back in my memory bank, to be taken out later and looked at, digest, go over, again, and again.
I love these girls, all three of them. Through good times and sometimes less good, they have stood, with me and without. A few weeks back, they showed up on my doorstep, quite unannounced, for coffee. The coffee that has become ritual. But, not like your neighbor. Two of them crossed more then a couple State lones to be here, to infuse a little intrique of showing up out of the blue.I love them for it. For caring enough, the same as I care about them.
The ritual of drinking coffee is such a therapeutic exercise in “being there" Does anything else really matter for that moment or three - or can I allow myself to simply enjoy the beverage, the conversation, your company, and perhaps, a little bit of laughter? I raise my cup to the laughter.
Truth! Something as simple and positive as a visit with friends to drink coffee and talk about what is on your mind that day, can be one of the best exercises for the mind and heart that you can practice. Practice makes perfect. Bring on that @c0ff33a and sooner is better.
Half my life ago, I imagined a very different adult aitting here, having coffee, the same way as I always have had it. I had no idea what life was about and I believed in happy endings with everything tied up in a neat little package called life. I look at the faces of these friends, knowing that together and seperately, we have lived abundantly,weathered our fair share of storms and we are still here. It has taken me a while,but, I now know that endings aren't the happy part of life - well, not necessarily. If you asked me today, I would have to say that life itself is my happy… my life - and every day that I am given, well, that is the gift.
They want to be picked. They yearn to be loved. Shouldn't we all want to be? There must be a flower. #alwaysaflower
We need poem, yes?
A symphony plays
The strings of my heart
Music to my eyes
All I have are my words, armed in my mind, written in pen, stand by stand. Oh, yes. Still by hand. It has a different feel. Altered not by keys, backspace, and delete, I write, erase, tear it to pieces and start all over again. And again.
It’s my way. I walk out to the deep end of the page and dive right in.
The Naming of Cats
The Naming of Cats is a difficult matter,
It isn’t just one of your holiday games;
You may think at first I’m as mad as a hatter
When I tell you, a cat must have THREE DIFFERENT NAMES.
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