The Hot Tea Decision

Not to be cross-contaminated by TeaParty. What a cool title that’s endangered by words, by rhetoric, the down-side.
But that’s the gurgle in my gut anyway—so to get to it, here’s the situation:
Gorgeous sunlight streaming in the window.
But I would miss the best educators I know who are tweeting, google-doc-ing, and possibly streaming video from Boston, simultaneously from Hudson Valley WP. Twitter mates near Atlanta and in Romania sending messages almost driving my mind berserk with transformational thinking.
Almost time to pick-up the organic, local foodstuff from Family Cow.
Our pick-up’s got a dead battery. Got to try to jump it if I’m taking the dog for a ride who’ll never forgive me if I don’t. And the horse needs a ride on a day like this & my soul won’t forgive me if I don’t.
Here it is the last day of April and I’m several poems behind but I’m going to count this list anyway and pretend it’s not the end. I’m going to play like the sunshine is irresistible as are the dog and the horse. And all the mindstuff will just ripen the way buds are still coming up from the winter roots and when the time is right . . . Now my hot tea has gone lukewarm, mostly gone anyway, and I’m into the breeze with the jumper cables, the reins, and off the leash of talking about.


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