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Perfect Peas

I came downstairs  to find a sink of dishes from yesterday. Already I'm behind. I started coffee because  that is always first. Then on to the dishes, while it brews; ruminating on all I have to do. A list of all the undone things tapping on my brain. I tried to organize my day. What comes first? What is most important? But outside my window there are perfect peas. They asked me to take their picture. I told them I was too busy. They asked me again.  This time I wondered  if I might make time.  They really were so perfect.  How do they look so lovely? Each leaf, each blossom, each tendril; this morning lined in glistening droplets. Perfect peas. While I was taking their picture, they told me a secret.  "We will be perfect,  so that you won't have to."  I went back inside. The dishwasher running. I drank my coffee and wrote about perfect peas.

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