Hug the trees IV

Initially I was somehow perplexed by the fact that in LA even people you have known for a relatively short time are ready to express their joy of seeing you with a hug.
Now I feed on it.

Already I’m looking forward to coming to the creamery shop for the first time during my next visit and meeting the people who run it.
I know they are going to hug me. And I know they are going to mean it – or most of them.

‘I am glad you are back.
I am glad you are yourself.
I welcome you here, never mind the burning issues that you brought with yourself in your mind.
Never mind all the petty misunderstandings and failures we’ve been through together.
Here I am and here are my arms around you. You’re safe. I am not going to play any games with you (at least none that I am aware of).
If I can be helpful to you in some way that will not harm me or those in my care, I am at your service.’

All this and probably much more can be said with an unfaked hug.

(Guess Mum speaks this language too, but it is the way of becoming an adult today that we prefer to gather knowledge elsewhere than at a primary source.)