my wealthier young friends flood the feed with photos of their travels. india, italy, thailand, and so on.
I remain here, near and dear, brown-skinned growing ever browner.
no encounters with ancient and obscure religion or authentic gelato mark my days. instead, I am enraptured by my daily trysts under the boughs of pine, oak and redbud trees, where my grimy, dewey neck is lovingly kissed by the wayward breeze.
this is a summer of small things, cupped with both hands against my heart, against my eyes. little things seem much bigger when viewed closely and felt completely. you know, there is so much to be found in moments.
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