We need to separate
to see the life we’ve made,
to leave our house
where someone waits, patiently,
warm beneath the sheets;
to don layers of armor,
sweater, coat, mittens, scarf,
to stride down the frozen road,
putting distance between us,
this cold winter morning,
to look back and see,
on the hilltop, our life,
lit from inside.
Published with kind permission of the poet.
Take the thorny, inconvenient step. Create a mess outside your usual jurisdiction. Stop leaning on the…
Open your hands, lift them. —William Stafford, “Today” The parking space beside the store…
Just lying on the couch and being happy. Only humming a little, the quiet sound…
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