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It is so cold and a fresh ripe fig..

Today, being sunny, I ventured out to get milk and stamps and posted a birthday card to my godmother. She isn’t formally my godmother but it saves explaining how she knew my parents, though she is older.

Yesterday was less sunny and therefore colder in my home. The morning sunshine ā˜€ makes heating unnecessary in my home until much later in the day. So yesterday my left hip started hurting again. I meditated on this pain about three years ago and it went away so I must do it again.

On Thursday I went to the hospital for a blood test my respiratory consultant had requested. Another doctor had requested a sample too. I queried this and asked why, but did not actually say no. But neither did I say YES. I have emailed that doctor to withdraw my passive consent. And asked the hospital to advise phlebotomists about consent.

On my way out of my garden earlier, I saw a ripe fig on my tree. I felt it and there was the slight softness. I picked and ate it. Oh, it was so delicious!

I got a slow cooker some while ago. So great for root vegetable stews. I am so thankful for it, the fig, and the flowers still in bloom. We are indeed in a changed climate. The plants are confused.

By Chrisssie Morris Brady

I've read poetry since I was nine and have written creatively since I was fourteen (probably long before that). After writing book reviews and social comment, I decided I wanted to write poetry. I have no formal training, but I surround myself with poets and their writing. I am honing my craft.
I have two published collections which I don't feel good about, but have been published by madswirl.com and other publications. I live on the south coast of England with my daughter. I am seriously ill.

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