Hitting a wall
Or maybe its just a fence.
Or maybe that it’s fatigue from the getting up at 5:20 am yesterday to dance up the sun on Mayday – a quaint custom I’ve been doing for fifteen years or more with my dance team. Alas, without my team this year.
Or maybe too many zoom meetings in a week.
Or maybe it’s keeping lively during this unexpectedly long time of sequestering.
Whatever it is, I hit a wall. Or a fence. Or a pause point. Maybe a little depression, a little sadness. Poetry month is over and that always deflates my balloon a bit. Going from receiving 5-10 poems a day, and writing one, to the absence of shaped words in my in-box and life.
What I know , or believe, is this is a temporary banana peel. I come from a long line of strong-hearted women, who pick themselves off the floor (and then wash it). Move forward because that’s what you have to do. But there is a little space when you have to pull back. To sit at the bottom of the wall. Sit with your sorrow or grief or anger. Maybe butt your head against it. Maybe imagine it as a fence with space between it. Space that will gradually widen.
Whatever it is, I’ll sit here awhile. Then today, or tomorrow, or the next day, I’ll plant something, or make something, or write something. Or just be. In the now of having climbed over the wall.
Til next time.