days

how can days with out seams be too short?
they're not. there is an aliveness that stirs and has awakened many roads of inquiry.
it takes time.
and now that I have more of it, there is more expansion.
still,
I am waiting for that buzzing drone inside me to settle.
that buzz that feels urgency.
that buzz that feels pressure.
that buzz that says there isn't enough time, time will run out, and I will miss out, be undone, unfinished....
I say to myself, "you can't do it all. move at the rhythm that nurtures you, not the one that lives in a constant state of deprivation and starvation. you are enough. there is enough. all is well. it's safe to slow down..."
there it is.
it's safe to slow down
it's safe to slow down.
my face wrinkles in doubt.

I slowed down yesterday on a morning walk. it was safe.
the warm spring breeze was filling me with a relaxed joy.
and the images came.
a twisted jaw, eyes, wild with fear and pain,
thrashing legs and hooves,
mud and blood and screaming panic.

I've been able to find some distance between it and me, not intentionally, but there has been a capacity for placing it over there somewhere. some other place. some other time. I still haven't been to the barn. it's not fully real.
she could still be there.

but I know, in these slowed and still moments,
she's not.

she's walked up the hill, looked back at me and vanished from my view.
she's gone.

my heart burns to write it.
to put it in front of my eyes to see.

but in this time of the pandemic. of not going anywhere, really,
of being house held since march 4 (it's now march 29)
it holds a certain quality of fiction.

a terrible story.
but, a story.