Regrets, I’ve Had a Few by Marilyn Weisman

It’s drizzling.  That light, refreshing sprinkle of droplets on my bare arms and I swirl and turn and spin, arms outstretched, reaching, reaching, reaching.  I allow myself the dizzying freedom of falling, collapsing onto a pile of leaves under a large sturdy oak. I lie there a bit and my mind travels. Back through the...

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