I gave thanks that the group of men in their boisterous prime were noisy and jovial, not raucous and forceful; that they were careful and kind with their big frames that could crush all below six-feet-four-inches; that their feelings were never hurt by knowing I poured their horrible, gifted coffee down the drain after they left for the day in favor of making a fresh pot more to my liking. "Find a good home for that coffee?" one of them wanted to know when they returned. "Yup," I said with a smile. "Sure did."
I'm the author of a book of poems, Territory of Wind, a nonfiction book, Writing and the Spiritual Life and, most recently, a play, A Woman's Life in Pieces, which I've been performing in Monterey and Santa Cruz.
mmmm, such tenderness, downy fluff resting on fallen pine needles...
ReplyDeleteI gave thanks that the group of men in their boisterous prime were noisy and jovial, not raucous and forceful; that they were careful and kind with their big frames that could crush all below six-feet-four-inches; that their feelings were never hurt by knowing I poured their horrible, gifted coffee down the drain after they left for the day in favor of making a fresh pot more to my liking. "Find a good home for that coffee?" one of them wanted to know when they returned. "Yup," I said with a smile. "Sure did."
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