I’m trying to find that spark, perhaps again
(I’m not sure yet which one it will turn out to be.)
Oh, the mystery—a tumbling together of
whispers of potential thrills of discoveries to be made with
anxious murmurings of the unknown failures
and mistakes (and insecurities known) like landmines ahead.
… the Land of Indecision with its
Valleys of Inaction and Ditches of Dillydallying
are wearying, dark and dreary as they and
their companions provide neither rest or hope or
Perhaps, then, the permissions are not only to
leave things be (for a season or seasons),
but also to fail and learn and
grow; to go where each arrow leads.
Even (particularly) when it means
getting up again and again and … again.
*Photo by Florencia Viadana on Unsplash