My hands are empty. I brush my teeth and scrape the day from my skin. Such a lot of maintenance, with keeping my body ready, cleaning dishes, folding clothes, and praying for relief from an encroaching sadness. I imagine lots of things that aren’t true. There seems to be a correlation between peace and the nearness of trees. I think heaven will be the woods, dark and deep. I like the dark. These days are full of nail trimming and foraging shiny stores for food. This is not heaven.
The Word Rummager 
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