I feel light.

I’ve been writing – for myself not just for a buck.

I can see the point of folding washing and clearing plates for the morning.

If something goes poorly, there isn’t a brick of dread sat in my throat trying to choke me on panic.

I can say “Oh well, what does it matter?” to late trains, blocked drains, sudden rains.

I can feel grateful for pecan maple pastries and a drop of cream in my coffee tomorrow.

For a crumble made with blackberries I picked myself. 

It makes a difference. This lightness – it makes a difference. 


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