East/West
East is East and West is West, and the wrong one I have chose. Bob Hope sang these thoughts in the 1948 “Paleface.” And 6 ½ decades later, I am musing upon their essential truth. To put a finer point on this, the east chose me. Our move to San Francisco is still unfolding. The leaves of our Brussels sprouts are not only unfolding, but reorienting. They face south every morning, I realize, looking down on them from our terrace. And they face south because south is actually east.
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