No seed in the birdfeeder.
The hungry chickadees
are safe from the hunting hawk.
I know this short poem doesn’t meet the requirements for haiku – it has too many syllables.
But it says what I need it to, in 3 lines.
When the birdfeeder has seed in it, the hawk comes and picks off the chickadees who feed at it. It’s amazing and terrible. I haven’t been able to fix the feeder since I took it down to keep the squirrels off it. I still need to put it back, but it’s a multi-step process, and I’m too tired, these days, to do much about it. Maybe this weekend I will fix it.
Much of my passion is gone – that fiery Will To Do has tempered. Maybe it’s age. Maybe it’s wisdom. Maybe it’s perspective. It seems more like confusion to me.
Before my 2004 tbi, I had so much enthusiasm and passion for life. Then everything fell apart, and my passion was replaced by rage.
Now, I’m more happy to have nothing “going on”. Passion and enthusiasm get me turned around and confused, and they don’t last long. I frankly lose the spark pretty quickly and then forget what I was so excited about. Some things come back, but a lot of it doesn’t last.
I just don’t have the stamina I used to. Not when I’m so tired… as I often am.
But that keeps me from dissipating all my energy. It keeps me grounded and focused. And I see past the shiny facade of raw passion, to find what is truly useful and valuable to me.
And that keeps me safe.
No, more than that. It keeps me stable and helps me to learn anew each day, who I am — and am becoming.