A soft Sabbath coming on, gentle light, slight breeze, westward
darkness promising more spring rain. Dog
sleeps, lover stirs and I want to push the starting time back further and
further. Sundays at Fair Haven mean
pushing home. Leaving her is difficult,
often feels more like leaving a vulnerable loved one than a plot of land. Don’t know why, just does. Johnny Cash would enjoy this Sabbath morning;
make him ask Kris to rewrite Sunday
Morning Coming Down—a soft Sabbath coming on.
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| A line made on a walk. |
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