waiting still

drifting, drifting, awaiting winds shifting, mood lifting.
why am I waiting?
I feel left behind, I feel forever still, when the world goes on and on without me
why do I always wait, forever hesitate? Someday I know, it will be too late
still, I am still, even knowing this still I wait,
waiting for a shift of wind, before I shall begin

The last true summer sunday,
how did I savour it? Yard work, laundry, organizing son's clothes, bagging up all the too small clothes, getting ready for back to school. (oh and some really bad food). I will vacuum, or walk after I blog.

The stillness is rattling me, I feel like shaking myself "wake up" time flys by so fast, this summer didn't last, how quickly it came to pass. I like to linger, to walk slow, to touch to taste, to feel as I go.

but what will I ever do, ever become, am I happy to merely be, is that all I ask of me?

Labor day, for me, is like New Years Eve, it is a time beset (encrusted, each one a strange jewel, not harassed) with resolutions, new beginnings, a time I engage in new plans, and new visions for myself, back to school, pencils sharpened, notebooks blank ready to be filled, I come smearing off the old half written words, and chalk dust, and write new assignments, begin or re-begin quests. Who am I, how do I want to be in the world? I take up the question again, the journey I attend with purpose.

But today doesn't feel like a beginning, it feels like an end. The last true summer sunday (once school starts it doesn't matter that seasonally it is still summer, it doesn't feel like it anymore, it isn't true summer anymore. By next Sunday I will hear the forever clicking, tic toc ticking of a clock). Today I feel like I have sucked my breath in and am holding it, a pause.

so much I see undone, still undone. And I am moving so slowly, as if I had forever, how sometimes I wish I had forever, for it will take me so long to get wherever it is I am heading. I am so taken with the vista, so unsure of what direction is best, which path to take, and every passing cloud is worthy of watching.

The cat and I sit here, we look out the window, noticing the small flying insects among the flowers, and the tilting of the sun (like it is falling away, beginning a journey of leaving us for a time, though in truth it is us who are turning away) . And this voice in my head says "hurry, hurry". But I am still. The cat tucks his head down to sleep. I feel so many things undone, and all I will soon have to do, crowding around me, anxious flailing. And still I sit here, watching the leaves of the weeping cherry lightly swaying in the gentle breeze, sunlight shinning through them, shadows interwoven.

A Corinne Bailey Rae song on repeat. Cheese watcing cartoons and scampering around in the kitchen, begging me to rent him a video game; saying he needs a training dummy to beat up. It is time to switch the wash and put other linens in.
So much to do, so much needs to be done, I can sense it rushing toward me as words, as ideas, but I do not feel it.
I am knowing it and still, I sit here still.
Still, I sit here still.