Life’s Little Misdirections 🥀🦋

Get Your Day Started

Where To Begin

Where does the story begin? With the rabbit nibbling
clover from my backyard, or the robin yanking grubs
by beak from beneath patches of remaining grass?

Does it begin with a squirrel raiding seed from bird feeder,
spilled beneath the cedar? Kernels plummet beneath
moldy mulch to grow weed in a summer season.

Is it where the white owl resides, mystery in lofty pine,
swaying with stiff breezes? Or, the mole hiding the day out
beneath the deck, covered in waves of decaying needles?

Do I find my story lingering about tiny sand mounds where
ants carry harvest to caverns below, or with clever toads
stoically snuggled in cool dark, within rock and dank clay,
hunger the unsuspecting bugs to prey? What would leave me
this way, wondering all the day, where to find my story
start? in my robe, in my room, looking out the window
above a sheet-tussled bed? Where I shall stay and drink
this morning away? The coffee maker will have to wait.


8.21.20


I'm beginning to think my default is to not try until something inspires me. When I search for that thing or someone who can motivate me, feed off a good subject, project to fulfill; I'm empty. I might try, but it usually ends up with a daydreamer looking out at a world that self-sustains and wonder 'why can't I be like that?'

My assumption is everyone can relate. People try to avoid getting in this rut. Mentally, I have to rock myself out, but then what direction to go? Where is purpose? You spend 14 years on a journey with writing that meets with obstacles and find you went too far south. Efforts to find paths that could lead you out of a maze find distraction, find a person wanting to give up.

But, it's been 14 years, and you are a different person, to yourself, just not in other people's eyes. You want a fresh start and burn all bridges to the past. I want to leave everyone to be alone and find me, go on a journey where none tries influence me. I can make my own decisions and stop second-guessing, stop leaning on people who never got me or cared enough about me to let me grow my own wings to fly. Rather, mine have been tapered to sit in a cage and sing like Angelou's bird like freedom.

The only person I should owe anything to is myself, but out of obligation have felt a debt to others. And, it is the work that I do to appease others that grows like cancer on my heart. I think they would love me if I set myself free and truly show them how I fly...if I only had true navigation.