Where has the sunshine gone? Where is the warmth of the earth? The rot is all that generates heat. Here today and lost tomorrow.

How can I know what I know when I can’t remember what I’ve forgotten? Why do I have to remind myself to remember what I already know? Words or geometric design. It all depends on the state of mind.

Rise up from the mud.

Stand up dammit.

Can I?

Should I?

There is a bud. A potential blossom only. But there it is. Green life straining to free itself from the muck, to rise above. Delicate layers unfurling to absorb life and create. Mud clings to the stalk and freshly minted leaves. All I can do is wait and watch and hope. Hope that it achieves the beauty we know it can be. Hope that no one crushes it beneath their soiled boot. Hope that if you can, then I can too. Perched at the cusp of pond and land. Not too far one or the other. It exists. My breath trembles, a frosty cloud of discarded gasses. My waste is life’s breath for this bud. So poised there, I breathe. And wait. And hope. Feeding that which I can not rush. Guarding myself from further despair. Trembling with desire to be free of mud, pond, and the illusion of isolation. Then, I look to the sun.


I feel as if my life is like trying to run in mud that is knee deep on a pond of ice……the little victories forward seem overshadowed by the daunting task still ahead…..my choice of direction is hampered by my inability to make rational decisions rather than emotional ones….I’ve fallen behind, been pushed aside, trampled at times….and still I have a hope that as long as the sun still shines and I stay true to myself, that somehow it will all work out. I am a failure on most measures of success. I’m still learning to forgive myself for not measuring up to my own expectations. I am a muddy, messy, cold feet work in progress. Just know that if you feel this way too, well, it’s a big pond and no one is in it alone. Wipe the mud from your eyes and you shall see. When you hear the muttering and cursing, then you’ve found me.