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| last night, wind was pouring through the darkspined streets, forcing leaves and litter into scurry. but today, in the quiet yard behind the sunshine cafe, i am painting happiness with toes and fingertips. a worker bee is swimming in the thick miasmic air, a thousand million wingbeats from his home. i wonder if the air and warm i breathe right now have sometime in the ever-past touched your hair, your shoulders and your thoughts of me, a thousand million wingbeats from your home. and always is a new day now, ever-breathing. |
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| *image: francois fressinier |
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