A doddering kind soul

wanted to show me something.

       It was a show and tell actually and I was in no hurry . . .

So, whether I was to be taken straight to the point or driven multiple times around the block,

I was the listener and not the teller.

Turns out, it was the story of the brick that they had made . . .

             . . . from mud off the family farm . . .

. . . all the way to the community kiln . . .

                                   . . . and then to its journey to . . . and its placement in . . .

They were proud of their brick.

And rightly so.

It did fit in nicely with the other bricks

that were floating nearby.

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    Disclaimer: Poetic license is at work both here and in my books. Any errors or anomalies are through no fault of my editor. These were left deliberately at my expressed intention to clearly indicate that goodness does not require perfection.

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