Picture a Humongous Pile of Compost.
Huge. Growing. Ripe.
Picture me next to this Pile. Not in it. Receiving flecks from my proximity but not IN it.
Problem is, I am REALLY tired. Not from shoveling it. Or moving it.
But from this really HUGE shovel that I seem to be holding on to and the poised-to-do-something about said pile with said shovel.
Habits die hard. Especially ones that are as familiar and worn as a pair of 30 year old bedroom slippers.
Just became aware of the shovel yesterday.

Thank heavens for therapy and walks.
Dreams, too. Those came back last night.

Gonna lay that shovel down and watch the sunshine on the PILE. The shovel and the pile ain't mine. The sunshine is.