Today, quite honestly, I do not feel inspired.
Or visionary.
Or particularly energized.
I don't.
So, rather than fight it, I think I'll drift for a while here.
Like the thistle seed within it's whispery, furry pod,
adrift on the breeze.
Flounced by updrafts,
parachuting back toward earth in downdrafts.
It's okay, I think, to travel this way
from time to time.
It'll have to be.
Until I land on that just right spot of earth
alive with moisture, sun and shade
waiting
for a drifter like me.
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