Down to the Soapmaking Shed (fiction)

I wake up with the sun and slowly, and gently, potter around my kitchen, stretching, daydreaming and soaking up a sense of gratitude.

I pour my instant coffee into my oversized, chipped mug and add a dash of milk. I love my morning coffee, it sets the tone for my day.

I am happy. I am living my quiet dream. Slow mornings and then some creating. To me that sounds perfect. Joyous.

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Oh, Maybe These are Gifts & Not Distractions

For so long I’ve ignored this part of me. I thought it was just my escape from the real world. I thought that I had some broken and strange withdrawal technique to save me from the reality of life’s responsibilities.

For so long I fought with my inner world and ideas because they weren’t useful. They weren’t a gift. They were a distraction, and a world I couldn’t explain.

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