person smelling flower

The savor of smell

And as I’m thinking about it, I forget how I got here or the path I took — though I am almost certainly aware of the path on which my nose takes me, the one of past memories.
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sitting in the rain with an umbrella

OK: A poem

I forget what I wanted to do, what I wanted to say, / I guess it can all wait for another day — / But can I?
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Contribute to the Weekender

Editors’ note

So slow down, sit back and let these pieces serve as a welcome reprieve before the week picks back up again — because it’s the Weekend(er).
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