Growth

As you can see, the baby chicks are now teenagers. At least that's what I'd call them.
They have strong wings and big feet and they aren't the cute little peeps they were two weeks ago.
Things change and they grow.
Sometimes faster and in ways you did not expect.

I woke up this morning with that old feeling of too-much-to-do and everything-seems-overwhelming. I hate that. It's all normal stuff. We have a dress rehearsal tonight and Natasha's costume needs some buttons and some different foundation garments and I must attend to that and I have library books overdue and Mr. Moon is going to need a snack bag for his trip to auction tonight and I have to go to Publix to get stuff for that.
Meanwhile, the garden needs attention and I have beds all over this yard that need weeding. The trash needs taking and so does the recycle.
Big deal.
But at eight in the morning, all of these things loom huge in my mind and I have to keep reminding myself that really, it's all little stuff but isn't it always the little stuff that adds up and becomes the insurmountable?

I think part of the problem is is that I need to continue on with my story and how and when? It takes a certain amount of time to set aside and go to that place where I can write about it. It's not a throw-off thing that just flows from the fingers. I have to get in that dark closet and ramble around. Take down this box and drag it to the light and open it and look in and say, "Hmmm. Is this something I need to think about? What part of the story is this?" And then another. And another.
But that's what writing is all about. Doing it properly takes time and if you're like me, you always feel like that's the last thing you should give your time to.

The chickens are in there peeping and chirping, they raise their heads up when I walk into the room. They're ready to go out, Mother. I have yoga this morning. When will I take a walk? When will I attend to myself? Natasha is important, the chickens are important, helping Mr. Moon get on the road is important, the yard is important.

And I think, somehow, that I am important, too, but not as important as everything else.
Which is stupid because if I'm not taking care of myself then nothing else gets done, or if it does, not properly and I'm not good for anyone else.

Well. I need to get moving. Those chickens aren't going to fly out to their box by themselves, although I think they could. They could stretch those growing wings and take flight and fit themselves into their daytime quarters where they wallow in the dirt and find bugs and peck at greenery. They're growing up. I wonder if chickens have growing pains the way children do when they're growing so fast that the ligaments and tendons can't keep up with the bone growth. Probably not. Their bodies are constructed in such a way that it all works the way it should.

Now if only our minds were like that. Our busy, silly minds that chatter and peep and send us all sorts of the-sky-is-falling messages when really, it's just one of last year's pecans, finally dropping from the tree, one of those boxes from the dark closet, falling from its place on the shelf, spilling its contents and demanding attention.

And so it goes and go it will and everything will be made tidy or maybe not, because life, as the commercial says, is messy.