A New Year
12 Dec 2016
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.