hendelar

it’s not so much that i miss the trappings; sipping cognac on the patio in the summer evening’s warmth, preparing for a spirited upstate / cross-province road-trip via fine German motorcar or Sunday morning play and chit-chat about the chocolate croissant; but it is the predictable comfort of that life for which i pine.

no longer can i claim understanding about what i’m doing here, way out here. there was a time when i was sort-of sure. before. prior to the so many things and events and changes in people, changes in me. there is a notion that it’s just about getting on with it, already.

i’ve been in this kind of space before…chaotic, doubtful. this time, i not only find myself committed like the pig for breakfast, but have chosen to cut away the safety net. regardless, the only obstacle i can see is me. except i now question what i see.

i’m not surprised to find fear in this place, after so many years of familiarity with its workings. i am though, taken by the tenacity of its heavy-handed attendance.

glh