Simmering

...Like winter soup I am. I go through periods like this: life seems as flat as a prairie horizon, and I, too, seem flat. Maybe it's the fatigue of trying to ramp life up a notch (to paraphrase the Smiths' song, how SOON is my now?). The weariness that happens when they find new ways to whine. All. Day. Long.

Still, I am hopeful. Beneath the dull exterior, what interests me about this time is that I am also searching. For the poem, the book, the wisdom passed along, the clarity. And when it happens, it feels like another heavy page in the book of my life turns toward the interesting conclusion.