A New Year

A New Year

It’s winter, cold, grey and quiet. The doors and windows are closed, the heater is on, the air is dry. My skin soaks up moisture like a dessert longs for the rain. My stubby hands are starting to resemble my mother’s longer, bonier, wrinklier versions.

These days, I am not feeling the luxury of the longer days, where nights hang over days. Something is pushing me to make haste. Keeping me from sound sleeps. I don’t feel the regular bearlike winter slumber feeling that I usually do.

In this unsettled place, a murky fuzzy feeling has entrapped me. A need to shed it’s ambiguous hold. What I am seeking is clarity and a definitive life force. Outside the wind rushes through my hair saying: “wake-up!” Get going, get on it! Time is wasting.

Inside I gather my notebook and pen, thoughts are swirling. I sit, I breath.