This morning is slightly overcast. I have work to do but instead I am staring at the soft gray glow of the pine and watching birds swooping through its branches. There's a light tapping sound coming from outside; I think maybe a woodpecker has found our trellis, or a nearby tree, to be worthy of pecking, a squirrel forages and small chickadee-type birds hop gracefully, eyeing the ground for seeds. I feel timeless suddenly, suspended between worlds and tasks and I want to draw it out forever.
My goal as of late has been to live for the future, to dwell less on what has past. But in this endeavor I believe I've begun to miss the present. It's the worst mistake anyone can make. I hardly even write anymore. I wonder about that: I think once upon a time writing connected me with the world around me, helped me to immerse myself in it. But also writing of the world requires a certain separation from that world, the ability to draw back and see it at arm's length before diving back in for the microscopic details. Am I always living in the world now? Or am I always drawn back? Where are the answers?
One of my good friends quoted one of my Livejournal icons recently "Into the breach once more, another city broken open..." (from a poem), for he has just gone to Japan for his work. I think of that, half-twisted in envy. I haven't had use for that icon in too long. What daring do I feel these days? I feel drawn back, pulled in, moderate. I know this is not a byproduct of age, so then where is it from? It's sad to feel this way, when I know that I am a happy girl in truth. But I am also bound, my life reads like one enormous to-do list, filled with stodgy black bullet points and neat letter marching across the white paper. - Go to dance - Write article - Clean room - write homework assignment - work on quilt - eat lunch with friends. I don't know how to break from this cycle, how to inject myself back into living and the present, but something must change before the joyful me fades so much that I can't recover her at all.