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Abstract

eed another summer. And that I</p><p id="b3f1">know</p><p id="3b64">most</p><p id="1579">of</p><p id="5266">all.</p><p id="4a5c"><a href="https://linktr.ee/anniewood"><b><i>Annie’s art, book, and more</i></b></a></p><div id="cc4d" class="link-block"> <a href="https://byrslf.co/thoughts-on-doing-ccfd9b7a30fc"> <div> <div> <h2>Thoughts on Doing</h2> <div><h3>And not doing</h3></div> <div><p>byrslf.co</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/1*v4y49mqr5JjF-rIQBOo37w.jpeg)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div><div id="2381" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/how-to-stay-focused-and-get-what-you-really-want-adab128a1dda"> <div> <div> <h2>How to Stay

Options

Focused and Get What You Really Want</h2> <div><h3>If it’s thinkable it’s doable</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/1*SMx2G5ZXFzy9l6Xq9xyN6A.jpeg)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div><div id="c9f8" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/journal-entry-age-16-9a6f437bf54e"> <div> <div> <h2>Journal Entry — Age 16</h2> <div><h3>Karma, baby</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/1*aaeh_BmpdF-RSZe_YlP5Gw.jpeg)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div></article></body>

Another Summer

Poetry

Photo by Stux on Pixabay

back to school commercials make me queasy. queasy and uneasy with the thought of summer’s end I am an adult. (I know that.) I don’t have to go to school. (I know that.) I don’t have to stop going on road trips or to the beach. (I know that.) But my stomach has yet to share this information with my brain so I must look away. Shield my eyes from the backpacks and pencil holders. No, not yet! I cry, I’m not ready. I need more time! Time in the sunshine. Time in freedom. Time in play. I try to soothe myself with the words, it’s okay, there will be another summer. Seasons come and go. That’s the job of seasons. It’s only change. (I know that.) But none of us are guaranteed another summer. And that I

know

most

of

all.

Annie’s art, book, and more

Poetry
Poem
Change
Life
Self
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