I chop the shallots into tiny pieces and saute them slowly in a little butter until they are brown. Then I add washed and chopped baby spinach and fresh asparagus. I let the water in the vegetables evaporate. I beat 6 eggs and a half cup of soymilk. I chop sorpressa into tiny pieces, and lay them on the pie crust, pour in the veggies, evenly, and poor the eggs and milk over top. I grate fresh local Swiss cheese, and ementhaler cheese and sprinkle it on top. I bake them in the oven. We eat them at the table, with coffee and fruit salad, and orange juice.
I am restless. I throw laundry in the dryer, and mop the bathroom, I water the pots of petunias suspended under the eaves of the garage, where the downpours of the last two days could not reach. I sit out in the sun. And lazy with the heat of sun on my black jacket, and sheltered from the wind, I gaze up into the blue sky.
A buzzard is suspended from in the air, as though hanging from a string in the sky. Not moving. Just remaining utterly in place. It flaps once, twice, and circles around and back to a different spot, and hangs, again, not moving, in the sky. He does this a half-dozen times over several minutes before he has gone off into the sky beyond my vision.
Do we all struggle with this feeling of lack inside us? Do we all say, I am not good enough, I do not do enough. Do we all say, I am not skinny enough, beautiful enough, young enough. Do we all say, I will never be as good as this person, or that? Do we all struggle?
I think the buzzard was choosing the place in the sky on purpose, delighting in the quality of the restless wind, gusting in burst from more than one direction. But it has found its place, its bliss, its joy, its easy place in the sky. it is delightful to watch, imagine how it must be to fly?
I PIN a million quotes of inspiration. Be happy where you are. Find your light and let it shine. Let others opinions not move you to change who you are, accept yourself.
If you accept who you are the universe will too. All that you want, you have to only imagine and it will happen. You make your own negativity.
I am restless, my thoughts jump across the sky, flipping over metal chairs, and rattling the bone chimes. I am like the woman and the cloak, as the wind tears at it, and the sun beats down, she sweats, she is cold, she holds tight to her cloak as her hair whips across her face, she is heavy with the weight of it as the sun beats down on her.
I think it might be time to weed the garden. I think it might be time to weed out some of the bits that no longer serve.
Instead of wanting to be the buzzard floating still on the restless sky, I want to be me, at peace in this restless world.