roar

I haven't written anything personal for some time.  It is not for want of deep diving into the well of living, rather it is from a constant water-treading in emotional exhaustion.  Sometimes the weight of human expectation and belief (my own at the forefront) weighs me down with lead-like determination and I find myself afraid of the next breath...the next "not knowing", afraid that tomorrow will inevitably find itself echoing the sharp notes of today.  These are the dark nights.  I surface for a long deep breath, drawn unhurriedly in a clear near-autumn eve, and ask,  "What if we can't f*#k it up?".  What if life just is and there isn't a right way or a wrong way except our thinking makes it so.  What if it...all of it...isn't such a big deal.  Would the stars still turn round the heavens if I tumbled ass over teakettle into my own stupidity.  Would autumn still give way to winter.  Of course it would.  What if I stood up, tall, and stretched from my long crouching, took a deep breath and bellowed deep from the bottom of my belly.  What if I roared.  Would the sky shudder.