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The intention is not to not stay. Nor is it not to not go. An attempt at a Thanksgiving meeting failed, and the ensuing phone conversations would not provide the intimacy necessary for an exchange of such gravity. I convince myself that the trip to Whistler she suggests might work and make the long flight to the West Coast. But already along the windswept banks of Lake Union, I broach our divide, explaining my reasoning and doubts, questioning her motives and choices. And just a few hours later, I quietly walk out of her life.

word of thanks
for a long amble
in the wind

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Gerry Jacobson, a redraft of a haibun published in Haibun Today, 4:4, 2010.


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