Rays of sunshine through fronds of palm. I cannot give due diligence to the prattling thoughts – the ones that aren’t even truly known to me until they make their way onto the pages I write to find me.

You taught me the gift of the written word back when we were all sleeping on waterbeds and rollerskating under disco balls and we didn’t know that we should have been sleeping on Posturepedic mattresses all along to prepare us for the aches and pains that show up and linger as we age.

There must be a goldfinch nearby.  Either that or you have woven yourself into these rays of sun shining down on me.  It would be like you to do that in spirit – you never were one to exhibit force or neediness – peacefully inserting yourself into my words as they assume the persona of your sloppy-bordering-on-unreadable scroll.  You chose this perfectly reflective moment in which to rest your hand with the lightest touch on my shoulder, adorning me with that familiar pat-pat of yours.

I think you’re telling me it’s all OK.  You were always good at that.

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