Two days in a row I’ve seen the same frog
snugged into the mud by the makeshift
bridge in the watershed.
Yesterday she didn’t move at all,
just sat there, all brown and earthy,
a testament to camouflage and
will you just keep your mouth shut
for once and listen.
•
I wrote to a friend recently about how I really want to create right now. Every twenty minutes or so I get a blind
energy, a dustup of motivation that moves me to research, take notes, or
roll around on the floor with a chair and dream. Then it seems as soon
as that phase is over, the doomblob rolls in, and everything feels dire
and purposeless.
There's a list of projects I am pursuing very slowly, like a cat in the underbrush, wiggling and pausing, adjusting her line of sight, and pausing some more. Is this bird worth it? Is it too big? I may get my eyes pecked out.
When I'm not having full on panic attacks, making soup out of leftovers, or avoiding Facebook by reading Boing Boing, I do yoga, keep up my hoop practice, or "follow along" with free Zumba routines available online now. There's plenty online, and I'm terrible at Zumba. I do not have the hair-flipping, sexybod moves for the choreographies, but I really enjoy the attempt, the fail, and the increase in heart rate. I laugh at myself. What else is there?
Then and only then, when I have written and exercised, do I have permission to go outside and stare at a frog.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment