dried hydragenaes hanging upside down off wall racks and cozy corners
the scent of autumn approaching
hearing jingle bells when I move christmas boxes
the taste of zucchini bread baked by a neighbor made from the squash from my garden
memories of when things were good with exes
finding my daughter's "pinchy" toy she carried around everywhere when she was a child, in my bins of treasures
wearing lipstick
not needing a PhD to buy a lipstick
looking at old shades and remembering kisses that are associated with them
lingering thoughts of who once loved my body
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Pole bachit, a lis chuye.
The field sees, the forest hears
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