on scorching summer mornings my walk is often quiet, empty of movement except for ants, as we crisscross on the sidewalk, they on a tight schedule to harvest meals for the day while I watch them g
I admit, I love knocking on the door of a person’s soul, watching it open and being welcomed in the warmth behind my speech, my interesting play of words, gets me invited in quite often though I’v
constantly, the choices French fries or garden salad soda or water fruit or cheesecake and then there’s yoga or stay in bed fast walk or stroll pay bills or computer scroll pull weeds or jump in the
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