I wonder why it's so hard for me to choose - to decide - to make a move.
Fear has captured me so strongly in her grip, paralyzed me - almost.
I agonize over if I'm making the right choice, the best choice, who will be affected...
What I want for myself resides somewhere near the bottom of my checklist. So far down I often forget about it, or can't find it, or get tired of looking for it.
I used to be braver than this. I don't remember how I lost her {courage} but she has nearly faded away, now.
The baby birds outside my bedroom window flew away today.
I didn't watch them go, but I'd been stealing glimpses of their preparation for days.
They would stand as near the edge of their temporary home as possible. Wings flapping wildly, puffing up their little bodies to occupy as much space as they could, crying eagerly.
They were focused single-mindedly on their purpose.
And I stood behind the window, grimacing, whispering worriedly, don't go - you're too little - you're not ready.
But they knew better. They were ready to go and they did not wrestle over the choice to fly.
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