100 Times

My skin hurts from the goosebumps raised in anticipation of that which didn’t eventuate

If anticlimax was a sword

It is a broken one

Attached to a sigh

A line drawn in sand

Blown away on the breeze

By a bird who forgot its song

Perched mute and awkward

Wings hugging

Wanting to fly

Feeling fragile

Fearing instinct itself

But birds don’t think like humans

There is no trepidation

Do or do not



Is a purely human contrivance

How blessed is a beetle who does not fear the sky

Although it probably should

How arrogant the child who learns to walk

By falling down

One hundred times

*It’s been crazy busy, I haven’t been writing, haven’t been reading. This one came to me along with a couple of others as I sat by the first fire of the season on Sunday. So often we are caught up in dread in our heads and it prevents us from even trying. Paralysis by thought. How crazy! How human. Instead I have been doing dread sprints (I’ve written about it before). Finding the thing that I don’t want to do (yet must be done) and getting it over and done with – fast. Shockingly effective.

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