These are the days of slow steps, little inch-like movements across the floor. Each forward movement seems to be met with counter tension and balance, pulling back the way from which I came. The little budlings of hope are just breaking ground when the torrents begin to pummel. Tenaciously the weather each assault with determination. Life feels much like trying to pull something out of a contained tide at the just the right moment...snapping photo after photo trying to get that perfect smile or fling of the head where his hair catches air. While it seems like treadmill time, there is the slow movement of molasses, the ever so steady dropping of that damned leaking faucet. And someday, soon I'm sure, it will rush like a wild river an unstoppable flood. I will find my heart's creative path and fall in love...maybe just maybe even have babies. In those days I will miss the lazy pace of this time. The space and time filled endlessly with breath. A vast open book as yet unwritten and unread.