Flowers on Sunday for Santa

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly, when they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky. So up to the house-top the coursers they flew, with the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too. – Clement Moore

We need the funk. – George Clinton

Flowers dried from other Sundays, because the delivery truck was so late Saturday morning, there were no fresh flowers when I went shopping.  But the greenery sent it’s fragrant tendrils into the past, and gathered my little fragments of Christmas into a portal of memory and time.

I suppose I am getting accustomed to all the uncertainties – since I can’t let them go.  I told the close people how lonely I am, and they have helped make it better.  I accept that maybe I won’t stop crying for a while.  I had my heart set on so many hopes.  At least I got hurt from dreaming.  I didn’t think I could do that anymore.

But the soundtrack on Sundays is the funk.  And as long as you make my funk the P-funk, the desired effect is what you get.  Just be thankful for what you got.  Let me put my sunglasses on.

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