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Inner Monologue

In 100, by Dom on December 9, 2018 at 2:19 pm

Breathe.

Let the scene before you dissolve into a canvas of color and light. Hear each sound as it comes, crisply. How do your clothes feel against your skin? This moment is art, manifesting in each detail of reality.

Imagine yourself of 10 years in the future inhabiting this instant, in this version of your body. What would you notice? What brings you joy in the scene around you? Cultivate nostalgia for the present.

All will change, so honor this instant by noticing and appreciating, letting the beginnings of a smile curl the corners of your mouth.

Rest and exist.

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Squirrel

In 100, by Wyatt on December 6, 2018 at 2:59 pm

Goose pecked the frozen gravel. “Tasty,” she said.

Squirrel nodded. Yesterday he left tiny footprints in wet concrete and there was still grit between his toes.

“We’ll stop in Carolina, if we’re lazy. Cuba if we’re audacious,” offered Goose.

Squirrel nodded. He’d stayed in this park by the river for his whole life. Those names were just abstract concepts for ‘places beyond’. They might as well describe the other river bank.

“Doing okay, old friend?” Goose asked.

Squirrel nodded. He‘d stashed acorns aplenty.

“See you in Spring,” Goose said, honking at her entourage and taking to the sky.

Squirrel nodded.

Thursday Morning

In 100, by Dom on December 6, 2018 at 12:32 pm

I awake, lost in thought.

In the kitchen, my mind races and worries, making plans.

I absentmindedly ask my housemate about his day.

“I’m going to have a picnic.”

The word stops my mind in its tracks. It tastes of sunshine and pine trees, of smiles and slowness.

“That’s cool! What else you got going on today?”

“Oh, was going to meet with some friends and drink tea later.”

The simplicity and beauty pierces my frazzled and distracted mind. Bluebird days like this are meant for wicker baskets, laying in warm green grass, feeling your body fall into the Earth.