Fidgets

     There is a story here

Its’ about fidgets. . .

Those things you play with

     You know

          You take them out
               When you have nothing to do

     You know

What is that?

     That’s a place of peace

When you hold that something in your hand
     Just to have something for your hand to hold

     Then your mind can drift

          Your soul can dance

               The physical is busy
                    So your soul can sing

          Can play
               On its own plane
                    Without interference

I can remember a time
     When you were little

     We were sitting on the sand
          Me whittling
               You with stones
               And you were singing

What is it about those moments?

          Can we ever have enough?

Peace

     Let it in to your Being

We loved each other well

                And still ~

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