It’s not the first day of spring but it may as well be.
The sun is shining and people are gathering about the streets of a small Southern city to look at arts and crafts and drink beer and wine and eat.
You can’t begrudge them although you no longer drink and wouldn’t risk eating something like BBQ which could only cause trouble dribbling off the fork and down your shirt.
Even though your shirt isn’t pressed and you feel comfortable you don’t want that to happen.
And you want to seem interested. Attuned to all that’s going on around you. Casually.
But your mind is going a mile a minute with wonder how you are there. Not just there but how it was you were brought there. Not in any negative, fearful or regretful way, just wondering on the pieces of your life and how they fit together to convey you to this now so felicitously.
Then she takes your hand.


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