Meandering thoughts today… they’re coming to me… kind of hide and seeking… like wandering through a misty maze

Ghosts of futures and ghosts of the past float in and out of my mind’s doorway… a little frustrating, but also necessary.  Quieting the racket, refusing the clatter of the internet, allowing thoughts to form and questions to flourish without the instant, obsessive gratification of google….

Listening to stories sung by a new friend… cross legged on the rug–hands folded–me–i sit…. held up by the humidity of the room… his voice so cutting and gentle, unapologetic and singing (of  the poor and the wretched and the forelorn)… It seeps from out of a studio… Bursts from glass walls… blasts out of drum sticks like magic from a wand…. Collects in the speakers and bleeds into the air just for me…. i listen….

I remain charmed and smitten with every lilt, every fold of his voice…

And the little one (my truest love), crossed legged on the rug–sifts through pieces of each new world he seeks to build… Looks into his future (folds into his imagination) holds and adheses fragments in his little hands…

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