Writ in Water

And there. It’s fall. The sunflowers burnt out, the drizzle yesterday lacing a wind that was slapping dry leaves mercilessly, so that the walk to pick up Rainer from school felt like a scouring, my outside state complementing my windswept interiors. I think I’ve stumbled across resolve, some small sureness, that paradoxically throws everything into question. I am startled when I am overtaken by a strong opinion or moment of resolve, which, really, shouldn’t seem like such a big deal. I think there’s even an old expression about opinions being like a part of an anatomy which every one has one. And it’s not as though I never have opinions. I have a friend I didn’t speak to for a year when we were what, twenty or something,...

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