Finally got to the tap room to watch a hockey game! The wild lost, dang. But in the course of sitting there some one parked in the seat next to me and asked “who ya rooting for” the sound ,mannerism, and face of the guy so reminded me of a friend Tim who has passed, I stayed longer and spent note them anticipated, just to listen. Grief ambush, remembering curve, jolt beer.
While considering my soul and the leakage of contentment and belonging I came across, from a broken reed,
” the mortar when garlic pressed will always smell of it no matter the actions” a paraphrase. So then my sin my bad in cling my wrong feelings or attitudes never seem to leave……the fragrance. My trajectory is difrrenr then my stench, thank you Jesus.
Emotions , men have em punk.