G i n g e r T e a

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G I N G E R  T E A

I sit.

My hands around my cup of tea,

smelling the ginger wafting to me.

I gaze.

I gaze up into the sky.

Counting moths that flutter by.

I listen,

I listen to the sound of a soft wind,

barely making a noise as it touches my skin.

I feel.

I feel my hair brush across my cheek.

A gift from my father,  so very unique.

I sigh,

I sigh, and snuggle up in my blankets of fleece. 

I am finally at peace.

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