Mud

I find myself irritated by deep thoughts and profound insights. I have no wish to dredge up the dregs and muddy the waters that are, for the moment, settled. Stagnant? Perhaps, better that than roiling stench. Right here, right now, I'd rather float, leaflike, on the rippling surface. Rather than sink beneath the bright reflections layered over thick muck.

I have no wish to claim my misplaced misery, it can sit in lost & found a while longer. My doubts of my value to others, my importance to friends, that can hide there, too, I suppose, along with my anxieties about money and health, and all the drama and tragedy beyond my grasp.

Let the distracted and blurred have this hot, dry, wearing day. Autumn will bring it's sharp clarity soon enough, if not quite soon enough. My eyes are on the path at my feet, there is nothing on the horizon to look up, look forward, to.