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There are a lot of changes… losses of sorts… I should feel empty… but instead… I feel freedom… like it all fluttered out to make space for something else… or maybe not… maybe there is nothing else for me…

But… I don’t really believe that… there’s always something else… it might not be what I think I want it to be… but there is always something else…

That’s a nice thought…

There’s always something else… always something more… always something fresh… always a place to land when I fall… there is always something else…

Not sure how this writing will go… not sure where I want it to go…

Writing opens my heart and fills me with possibilities… possibilities that are sometimes painful… sometimes scary… sometimes it’s easier to stay closed…

At least… it was… but like that bud… sooner or later… being closed hurts too much and you have to open… flower… all over again… even though you know the blossom will eventually wilt… and fall away… it has to be done…

I’m 62 years old… don’t I think it’s time?

It’s time… isn’t it?

It is…

So… I will write… and on the days that it pleases me… I will share my words with the world… and on the days that it doesn’t… I will ponder them and squander them until another day…

Bertha flutters by… it’s about time… she whisper shouts as she goes…