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
Fly
Dread
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.

I particularly love the last half dozen lines!!! ๐ Hope things ease up a little for you soon! ๐
Thanks Colin ๐
You are very welcome! ๐