It’s coming to a point where I must indeed pull my head out and look around, even to find a new hole.
Strange how intelligently we can decipher the signs, know the solution, yet fly away if we can, or like the proverbial ostrich, hide from it. I am a clinger to moods, comfort or discomfort. Know I must move on, yet bide my time as it flies forward at warp speed.
Life goes on, despite my best efforts to anchor it to port. Need a virtual kick to cut the rope and sail away, lest I drown as the tide rises against me.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology