All my life . . . I've been the mighty oak, grounded, able to withstand the gale force winds of the hurricane. Lifelines securely tied, I've been the anchor in the storm.
But . . . time is taking its toil. The winds batter my branches, even when there is calm. The teardrops overflowing the dam of my eyes wash away the earth that remains even when the clear sky keeps at bay the waters of the storm. Uprooted, ravaged by time, I topple over like the ancient pillars of Rome. I fall victim, to time. I can endure for you no longer. No longer for you can I survive. You must take breathe on your own. Our strength that once flowed through my veins is no more, I grow weaker, to continue will surely mean death for the both of us. Even now I wonder if it is too late? Have I strength enough to let go, enough faith, to allow myself to be blown across the barren landscape.
A tumble weed searching for its anchor . . .
6 comments:
its time stephen, its time to let go, be yourself,be true,be you
dave, the heart knows it is time, now if I can only get the body, the mind to listen.
A tumbleweed needs no anchor.
"Too much of nothing." Don't introspect, extrospect. Get out and play.
zeph, want to come over and play????
I do love your entries! Can boo boo come out and play?
That tumble weed right there found an anchor, FO SHO!
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