Water has no color of its own. It reflects...or
it lets the color of the container shine through. It doesn’t have a shape of
its own either. Flows into whichever shape it’s poured out to. Very essential
for sustaining life. Taken for granted until it’s unavailable.
Defines a mother as well. She is poured out
into a cook, cleaner, tutor, driver...Chaperone...sometimes even a doctor. We
miss her when she is not around but we hardly glorify her when she
is fussing over us.
My mother has smothered me with total
complete care. She doesn’t even let me think for myself. Before I even knew I
needed something it was there.
My sons have worn me down to the floor. They
are unstoppable storms wrecking my home. They need me to feed them, hold them
and comfort them, stay firm when they go off the road.
They do need me as water but really what
good am I if I entirely lose myself. Being poured out and out I fear my sensibilities
have dullened.My other passions have a crust formed on them. In this daily
chaos of which I am not complaining, a part of my core has taken off
hibernating.
I am very blessed with my two precious
storms but at times I feel unreal...unconnected...to myself...
I need to prod myself with new experiences.
I have to be the person I am along with the water my children need.
