Cloud Of Feathers

Yesterday, after posting the lovely quote about Mother Nature, quiet mind, & roping in the restlessness, I sat down to write and this spilled onto the page:

I am restless. Worried. But more restless. Home in the quiet. Everyone is somewhere. Michael/work. Claire/school. Dad/a class. Me/home. Thinking I “should be somewhere else” doing “something great, productive, making money, teaching people things that I know.” This is like a plague, this nagging thing that rides me all the time. I wake in the morning to a fluttering chest. I get a fluttering chest while resting on a massage table being gently rubbed with oils. I get fluttering chest walking around the neighborhood.

I am fluttering chest. Anxious, restless, waiting for a door to open, for the big break. Break-out? How about break-in?

Just now, as I type this, something dark pulls my eyes to look up & out the window. I see them, my turkeys, as the rain pours down, a quick cloud of feathers, a nod, a wink, a pause. A moment of gratitude.

I am thinking of Claire getting ready for school this morning. She is a ten year old girl; light, energetic, singing a funny song, then telling the story of waiting for the bus yesterday. Eight hundred kids packed into the gym and the assistant principal is on her microphone screaming,"Shut your mouth!"

I will not shut my mouth.