I have been out hunting. I am breathless, weapons dull from overuse, shoes worn thin. The terrain of the front range is dry and unforgiving. Still, secret mountain streams can create alcoves of lush beauty.
My prey eludes me. Nonetheless, the struggle to survive has made me better. But my supplies dwindle, and the wind blows colder as the winter approaches. Night falls faster, and the fires burn strongest at the hearth. The moon grows with every rotation and the time to decide is closing. Either way, it will be temporary.
I must continue the hunt, and enough has been learned to know that my current tactics are not achieving me my goals. Time to shift some perceptions and look for new angles, different points of entry. There is always more to see, I’m always missing something…but I’m closer. Ever closer, circling in on the elusive beast. I can almost smell it…
I need a whetstone. My blades are dull.
Yesterday my sister told me to go home. She’s been calling to me for months now. Across the country, she feels the absence of me in my own pride.
My own failures blind me from making clear choices. I will work to replace shame with gratitude, but I feel safer in my coating of unworthiness. I find comfort in the old messages of my weakness, my stupidity, and my doomed existence. I am safe with failure. I know how to fall. The question is, what would I do if I could see all my strength? How whole worlds could change.
I don’t know what the next two days will bring. I have provisions and allies, I am in need of nothing. Except that pesky job…the hunt sustains my soul, but not my bills.
In times of confusion and fear, I find solace in small facts. Little pictures. I am loved. I am able to function. I am not alone. I will find the beauty in my moments, no matter where they take place.