I think maybe on a Sunday night somewhere at the edge of a cliff there is a song that begins softly on a pine bed. He sings, "Climb," and it does, that song. When the very young Leon Bridges sings Mrs. and a very middle aged single woman listens, there is clearly some shame.
Dang.
Today I am grateful for two rides in the back of two pickup trucks, the dogs who chased us, a lovely breakfast, and how for just one moment I looked out and felt that feeling I had as a kid. Awestruck, I think it is.
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