I am stalked by death.She sneaks up behind me and whispers cold truths.
I am a machine. I cook and bake and can and clean and store up for living after the frost.
I am constantly preparing for the shift in seasons.
I am unprepared.
So, I move, frantically, helplessly.
I am a machine.
3 comments:
Keep busy -- it's calming -- and accept as many hugs as you can get.
We don't prepare for winter here.(That was just an obnoxious thing to say, wasn't it? :)
i'm thinking about you Joyce. xo
thinking of you too
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