Receipt

A receipt in my jeans hip-pocket;
Professional fees paid for services rendered.
The needed reminder that someone, at least,
is in my corner today.
That old bully Self Doubt crept up from behind
and bitter tears began to well.                                    
I fished for a kleenex and hooked that
forgotten little paper from the week before.
Folded in half and then half again with the faint
scent of cedar, or is it lemon geraniums?
Who cares?
The fiery immensity of its meaning
melts words of gratitude into non-sense.
That thin little page ripped from
a booklet of a million more;
Representing mutual benefit, shared aim?
Who knows?
Tactile evidence of four seasons of intro-spection.
I had lost my way, too dizzy to find my bearings.
You lead me to the cross-roads and gently letting go
of my hand, let me know that any which way I chose
to go would be okay.
I turn and wave adieu, give a little pat
to the receipt in my pocket and continue on my way.
Services rendered, indeed, My Friend.