Muddling through.
With a soup, and
with a scone.
A lentil soup, and
a blueberry scone.
Blue fingertips, and
floured shoes.
A nest of dirty measuring spoons, and
a nest of dirty bowls.
Lukewarm water, and
a damp towel.
I hate wet towels.
A book open, and
a ribbon strewn.
A recipe found, and
no recipe to be found.
This feels right, and
I am seized. A moment ago my mind was debating. A hesitation of will. To follow through and go with the flow. Sometimes the retreat is necessary. I find myself enabled.
Self medicating with thoughts of meals, and
coffees, and
cobbles.
Worrying, not.
Not a care.
To sustain this,
it would be bliss.
Beautiful, Tracy. I feel like I know that scene. (I hate wet towels, too.) xo.
ReplyDeleteI have really been enjoying your recent posts. Blueberry scones sound very good indeed.
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ReplyDeleteA perfect way to self medicate if you ask me.
...to sustain this, it would definitively be bliss, Tracy: please do, I love your recent work.
ReplyDeleteI agree with Michele.
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