Sabbath

Fresh breezes usher in a new week,

Cleansing the atmosphere of the last;

Inhale; exhale; the sky welcomes our breath

The sun graces us for the first time in a week,

And the wind whispers a promised rest;

Even the flagpole mimics a gentle chime;

We find solitary spots

and embrace

the pause

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One kind acquaintance

Wearing a red ribbon

Sitting alone on the chapel steps

Blows bubbles

They drift carefree away

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I want to lay

Beneath the bare sky

And drink in every precious moment

But a stark white page

Pleads for my gaze

GEM Anscombe

Tells me why Hume was wrong

I listen

Unwillingly

It’s the Sabbath;

Can Anscombe wait?