when blood sees blood of its own
it sings to see itself again
it sings to hear the voice it’s known
it sings to recognize the face
Having posted about being harried, I have reduced the number of e-mails in my inbox to fewer than thirty, written a lengthy letter to a long-neglected friend, and successfully tackled some work I’d been procrastinating on. This morning’s first hour was devoted to exercise, and now Suzanne Vega is making me nostalgic. There’s dinner in the oven. Perhaps there’s hope yet?
Ahh…Suzanne Vega. There’s always hope yet if there’s time in the day to listen to a little Suzanne Vega.
Plus it always feels so darn good to get things done.