An Aquarius season

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In another time I used to run along the beach in Connecticut in heavy sweatpants. I would do sandy push ups near the sailboats and the cloth and rope would clang against the masts and the seagulls would call out to each other over the winter wind

A layer of my life.

I sit with an old friend over tea and he tells me that he has accepted that parts of life may not ever happen. I wonder at what time do we become the type of people that do that.

I watch my grandparents help each other around their small brick home at the base of where the rockies form.

She helps his frail arms into a dress shirt, and rolls on thick socks over his thin, translucent ankles. “Have to make a donut” she giggles.

I wonder when she decided to accept what life had given. I wonder how young she feels inside.

I read about the season of Aquarius and how it has something to do with taking care of each other.
There was a poetry zoom and I sat and watched the faces of friends light up in pixels. Everyone reaching out from their small universe, sharing pieces that matter most.

I’m beginning to fully grasp the idea that life is completely whole right now.

There is coffee each morning. There is a new sense of foundation in what I plan lately. What I can see ahead.

There are his arms that are home. There is always laundry to fold, soup to reheat and sock donuts to roll.

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