Ten.Seven Hundred & Forty-Six
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Here.
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Now acutely aware of the connection and noise. Missing the roosters.
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But I’m not as angry with myself this morning. I can grant myself some grace. I can make different choices.
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I skip the grocery store and drive down to the market stand instead. I fill brown paper bags with tomatoes, squash, and green beans. I think of the green bean salad with anchovy vinaigrette and sweet cherry tomatoes that we had at the hotel.
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I can either lean into or away from my own kind of magic.
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Bird song. Loud. Thuds of nectarines dropping from the tree. The sound of the sliding door opening and closing for questions that don’t really need answers.
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The smell of roasted garlic.
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Not a dresser but a bookcase.
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We are wild vines.
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Finally feeling more like myself.