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Gratefulness
On a fortunate day, when night and day meet, and some silence passes between them with no enmity, no battle, as the green field climbs, grasses rising gold in the edges of the sun, the path appears before you, well laid and inviting. You’re sure it wasn’t here before, though something in you knows it always was, always will be. The strength in your legs returns to you, your body straightens, your nose sniffs the air. There is nothing beyond you. You kneel and empty your pockets, your bag. There’s no need for these keys or this wallet. This fear that has worn you out, what use is it now? The old photos— you can feel something tear, just a bit, like a leaf leaving its tree. There, you say. Maybe somebody else can use them. But the sun is rising higher now, and the warmth. And there’s a long way to go, but your feet, confident, already know the way.
Posted by kind permission of the poet. Image by Jan Marco Gessinger.
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