Starfish

Starfish

 

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Your wealth. My fortune.

Sitting on the deck with the dog and a cup of coffee, I notice all the things you have hanging. Colored glass, twists of copper and beads, lanterns and feeders. The yard sale candelabra that I constantly bump my head on. Bird houses and bamboo chimes. The rock on a wire. Bistro lights woven through dried branches and grapevine. Everywhere potted annuals climbing and cascading. Blooming shades of orange, pink and violet. Scattered perennials and flower beds. Tall trees, once dusty saplings struggling along the edges of country roads. The vegetable gardens that exist only because of you. Occasionally you ask me to turn some earth or dig a hole. Build or carry something.

You’re not here this morning, on a road  trip with our daughter, and I think of how much richer your life is than mine. And how fortunate I am to share your wealth.