I scream for my good today.  I am impatient and irritated, restless and discontent.  Is it the day, or is it the events, or is it just me?  Dunno.  I demand my good to be in front of me, behind me, above me, around me and beneath me.  Because it already is.

Like the hoard of crows squawking and yelling, fighting over something dead in the bushes beneath them, or hysterical about a hawk invisible nearby, there is a lot of noise about the invisible.  The fear of insufficient skills, applications, finances, youth–stuff– weighs on me. 

I shake it off vigorously, a wet dog thrilled at the water.  I get wet in life every day.  It slides off me like a duck with bright yellow plastic feet, wide eyes grabbing at grubs.  Breathing deep breaths, I claim my fullness now.