Been a tough week, gang.
And smack dab in the middle of it.
April has the cruelest mouth.
Someone needs to wash it out with soap.
“When her muzzle grew more white than brown, the chipmunk forgot that she and the squirrel had had nothing to talk about. She forgot the definition of ‘jazz’ as well and came to think of it as every beautiful thing she had ever failed to appreciate: the taste of warm rain; the smell of a baby; the din of a swollen river, rushing past her tree and onward to infinity.”
— David Sedaris, Squirrel Seeks Chipmunk
Transitions are always difficult, but casting my thoughts toward happier days ahead.
They will happen. I insist on it.
For now, this is…
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