This morning, I decided to write a poem, with no idea what to write about. I'm in Colmar, France, for a few days, on a work retreat with my daughter Luisa, who is finishing her final big project for school. As I haven't revisited Matthias Grünewald's Isenheim Altar at the Musée Unterlinden yet, I wrote about our cab ride from the train station to our rented apartment. The taxi driver would have paid a high fee for us to pay by card, so we scraped together just neough Euro change to cover the cost of the ride. The poem is 106 words long, so it couldn't be my daily 111-word text. (Andrew Shields, #111Words, 11 March 2025)
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