Some days we careen around here like a herd of angry bulls. We snuff and stomp, we posture and snarl at each other, our words sharp and huffing; our tempers already flaring–and all of this before breakfast.
When the day starts like this I shake my head, knowing that if the sun doesn’t rise soon, we will waste this day and gifts will be forsaken-uncounted and unrecognized.
We have to find a way out of this kind of black morning, before it runs away with all of us, before we cut each other too deep–
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