Just keep swiming.

Weeks of treading water, drifting though days doing the bare minimum. Not that I'm not preparing four meals each day, doing the laundry, making the beds, and playing mama - and all the trivia that entails. It's just that all this mundane stuff is just a deep rooted procrastination. I know I have things I need to address, and I am afraid of this next stage. Afraid that this fledgling dream I have my mind won't work and I will be sucked back into a humdrum routine job that will throttle my creativity.

It's spring. Change is in the air. I smell it.

southern tears

Tonight in a rural village in Africa two people I love share a house.
United by a 25 year marriage of complex convenience they are alone together, fighting and desperately sad. A continent away I hold a receiver to my ear. I listen to both speak out sad bitter words and have no magic formula to wish away the tears. No liberation bandage. Just an ear on the end of the line listening.