Letting go of the past, sock by sock

I come across a pair of my father’s socks.  How long have I had these?  He’s been gone a decade and I think I’ve had them nearer 20 years. They’re darned (does anyone even do that any more?), presumably by my mother. Maybe I’ve worn them, but not in a long long time.

Still it’s hard to add them to my charity shop rag bag.  I didn’t have the best relationship with my father.  They are socks of no particular significance.  I hadn’t even realised I had them.  But still hard to let go.

Here I am again dwelling slightly in the past again. Leaning back in all my yoga postures; failing to seize the day.

They’re definitely leaving, once I’ve taken this photo, once I’ve written this post, maybe after some tea….


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