I don’t remember where I heard the phrase “at a crossroad” used this week but when I did, I felt a hit of accuracy.
- I wish my book art skills were better.
- I wish I wrote with more passion.
- I wish I had a consistent mind.
- I wish I could focus on the work I’ve been given.
- I stand at the crossroad and forget to breathe.
- I talk to people and forget what they tell me.
- I ride a momentary high and tuck its souvenir in a library book.
- It may do someone else a lot of good but here am I
- Sending smoke signals from a new-mown butter circle
- At the crossroad
Someone, a fairly devious rescue artist and former acquaintance once asked, “Don’t you ever just “be”?” My inner Portia DeMarco raised a face and said, “What the fuck are you talking about?” He didn’t hear her.
At the crossroad, with its blessed lack of a Starbucks or a bar, I just be. It can be oddly confining. Just being.