Another Wipe of the Eyes

Early in the morning and things are a little blurry.
You blink. Wipe the night’s goop out of your eyes.
A little better.

A cup of coffee will help. Another wipe of the eyes.
More focus, but no more certainty.

About this poem.

A sea minor change in elections across the country last night. What does it mean? Does it mean anything? I have followed politics closely all my life (Thank my parents for that) and mostly I have been good at reading the tea leaves. Not so much anymore.

In fact, to be honest, I live in a place where I rarely know what is on the other side. I live and work in faith that no matter how blind I am, I somehow get there. God looks after us fools.

Be well. Travel wisely.

Tom