to a place we only dream of

Prancer and I have spent the last couple weeks being poked and prodded and stripped bare. Then one day, with a free bottle of wine, we ended up in the same place we’d spent so much time in in the last couple months, only this time it was all green.

I usually welcome expressiveness, emotive energy, spontaneous eruptions of humanity, today though, I feel so completely spent on the complications of a human soul. Mainly my own. So that when it comes down to expressing the things I’m feeling, trying to rifle through this pile of spit up shit, I’m just growing frustrated and impatient with myself. I’m well aware that my spirit embodies a different color everyday, sometimes more than one, but the past couple days I feel as though I’ve been getting whiplash. So part of me does kind of wish it was just all green. Green and thriving and growing and nourishing.

I feel awfully shriveled and drained, like a crunchy, clumped up autumnal leaf that gets stuck on the bottom of your shoe with the first cool rain of fall. But I love the feel of those leaves, the sound they make as you walk over them, and the way they decorate the horizon, so perhaps it is okay to feel this way. Perhaps the crunchy and clumpy wet leaves still hold beauty, just within a different lens. And perhaps they are still thriving and growing, yet their change is transpiring differently than is expected or desired. But it is change and growth all the same.