I was out wandering several days ago, hunting for the best red leaves. But instead I found a free pile on a street corner. Inside a box of nick knack paddy wacks I found a jar of dried elderberry flowers and one of lavender. Which all ad up to one perfect rainy day spent by the fire. Winnie the Pooh is on the shelf with Peter Pan and The Little Prince and the other books that make my heart return to the radish patch from which it grew. I read them to myself and I often cry at how very true every word is. True like real Truth; the kind that tugs the secret little stings attached to your oldest feelings.

I’m reading Winnie the Pooh to my roommates each night before bedtime. I read aloud to a big bald viking man about the hundred Acre Wood, I read to a girl half her hair shaved off about the sad bravery of Eeyore, I read to a beardy guy who smokes his pipe about boats that are only sometimes boats and other times accidents. We laugh and laugh and everyone slowly falls to sleep.

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~ by warpaintandwandering on October 24, 2012.

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