My house is not distraught. It is comfortable with dust that settles on its floor. Dust holds my condo to the ground. I don’t want to be Dorothy caught in a tornado, the wheels of my bicycle with no traction other than air. Air has no traction. In such an instance, the bicyclist is at the mercy of God.

I believe God keeps us gently tethered to the earth. It is still possible to soar as I have said. Even desirable. But the landing will always be welcomed after a night spent drunk on flight.

How drunk can one get in the midst of birds and clouds and the twinkling of stars? Quite would be the answer. My little dogs are not to be found in flight. I need to return to them to make certain they have enough water and food and love.

Shake off the flight. Land gently on the ground. Pet my little loves. Their tails wagging like a metal rooster caught in the wind. Guy is here, too. He locks on to me when I am dizzy. My medication and flight leave me dizzy at times. I have never fallen with the love he has for me. All should be loved as  much as the need for macaroni and cheese. All should be loved with the guarantee that the moon will never fall. The sun will always wake. And the ocean holds handfuls of water.

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