Sometimes life expects us to make confessionals. My list happens to be growing as I recollect events that I am sorry for. For instance, in the midst of my grief, shortly after learning my brother John had taken his life, I stole a plant. A flowering plant at a local grocery store. The reasoning being I had always walked the straight and narrow and while my anger was bubbling up, I lashed out in order to inflict hurt on the world I once loved. I struck back at the heart of existence.
Then again, what belongs to any of us?
seasons: a poetic journey 
Not a whole lot belongs to anyone… our thoughts… our dreams… our memories… your brother lives in your heart every day… and as far as the plant… it was yours before you even left the store… they were just holding it for you…
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Thanks Lance. Kind to say. Funny how I didn’t realize March 1 passed by without explicitly remembering. The unconscious spoke up! And I sit in amazement when serendipitous conversations open my eyes. 🍄❤️🎶
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