DO you ever feel totally dried up?  Like the sun has been sucking you dry of all energy?  Or in the Pacific Northwest, that you got stuck inside in the winter and like an abandoned house plant, you are limp, withered and alone? 

My feet are on the Path.  They have no elsewhere to go.  The dried reeds of summer flowers still sway in the wind with truth of being shining through dried tight bundles on tall waving stalks.  The lake glistens even in gray skies.  I breathe.

And I seek, and I believe, and I sit and I lean and I feel dried up.  I will be thrusted into the excitement of the office soon, distracted by the activity, the undone task, the interruptions, the emails the work I am called to do.

Today perhaps I hold back and sit on the next right action, the present perfect thought, and value the immediate smallest feeling.  I sense the scent of Her leaning over my shoulder with ever-Presence, no matter how my dry winter flower dances.