Spring is warming all around me into new life. I feel it in me too. But I won't fully respond. Why? Am I afraid of failing? I have an urge to run outside several times a day. To roll in the grass and smell it's sweet fragrance to fling my body in carefree ways. But I am adult and middle aged and many to do's and should do's hang upon my back. It's hard work carrying them around, and yet I've told myself it is my job.
There is a kind of heart-sickness when I see sections of my home that I have not really SEEN in a while, because they are stockpiles of memorabilia that cost time and heart space to sort and order and let go. Even though my house is small, there are several harbors of clutter from yesterday's significance.
Sigh...
The center of my Gerber has little fronds that lift to the sky, beckoning. They innocently, sweetly, solely long for connection with the outside world. Its petals are unabashedly watermelon pink and its center darker velvet mystery. Audacious.
I am drawn to it. I know it.
I understand the longing.
I wonder if it was easier to be so blatant about my needs before I knew the world could be discriminate and uncaring. Of course it was.
And yet, that child lives in me still.
I weep for her.
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