Prose

I live in a rented townhouse that I will most likely be moving out of in a few months.  Yet, as spring approaches I find myself outside in the flower beds, pulling weeds and replanting what was killed in the last hard freeze.  As I pulled one prickly weed after another, I wondered to myself…

I am not graceful.  Metaphorically nor literally.  I fling my uncooperative self across the chasm thrashing and writhing the whole way. and I won’t apologize for it. I try grabbing onto anything that I can while falling.  I make terrible decisions that overcorrect and send me careening in the opposite direction.  I fall and flail and…