Somedays I am sitting on my desk writing, my beige shawl
draped on my shoulders, the shawl I always wore when I was pregnant with Jori,
the shawl I still wear when I need warmth and comfort, the wooly shawl that
survived numerous times of washing, oil paint, food stains and time, looking worn out and full of the love it carries in its stiches.
And somedays I am sitting on my desk trying to write, a
light inside of me dimmed, a garden in my heart suddenly barren, its birds
refusing to sing, my whole being uninspired, silent and brooding. As if unable
to wake from a heavy troubled sleep, I see a way out but am unable to follow
it, I hear the answers but am unable to accept them. Something much larger than
me takes over me, I am completely and utterly in its grip.
