Definitely not a poem.


One is either a poet or a consumer. Blanket statement, I know. I am sorry.

I am not going to force this but let it come naturally.

There is no movement, no sudden intake of breath. All is, if not restful, quiet.

December is hectic in a wholly different way. Although a joy, it takes a big chunk out of one, I think.

One can either be a daydreamer or a consumer. Never both. I wonder why that is. Or maybe it’s just me?

I think long walks and a deep burrowing with good books and a cuppa is in order. Just thinking about that makes me want to weep.

No dualism here. Both sides are in accord.



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