Days that feel like Robert frost’s description here, from “Birches.”
It’s when I’m weary of considerations / And life is too much like a pathless wood / Where your face burns and tickles with the cobwebs / Broken across it, and one eye is weeping / From a twig’s having lashed across it open./ I’d like to get away from earth awhile / And then come back to it and begin over.
Here’s to hanging in there. Here’s to hope and beauty.
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