I love flea markets. They’re like the United Nations and Treasure Island all in one, a getaway for the cost of transportation. If only my life were a flea market. There’d be no price too dear and no baggage, unless I buy it.
Walking among the tables, I spy a Tarot reader, and think why not? She’s certainly baggage free.
And yet, she captures my life in three cards.
The Lovers, the root of my current problem, indeed.
The Hanged Man, I wish.
And Death, not likely. She tells me this means change.
Oh, yes. I’m more than ready for change.