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Blue Shoulders

Yoga in the library. Pyramid of managers. Some whose legs cross and sit flush to the floor. Others who need a straight back chair. I realize I can breathe the rapid breaths that energize. But it's holding my arms up in the air, fingers laced together like a hammock, that is the hard part.

Writer's cramp. Arms used to resting on the edge of the desk. Wrists on the raft of computer keyboard. Who am I to expect these shoulders to have the stamina of a teen. Teen on the monkey bars. Pulling up. I am grateful for these older and well exercised eyes. Blue is the emotion underneath the meditation on white palms one atop the other, lightning bolts from the fingertips.

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