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.