from the legal pad

the few life traditions i have are far from fossils. in fact, at moments i wish them not. my anxiety rises as we sit to watch our christmas film. and it's only the second annual running.   as we prepare, i wonder, "is this it? this is all we could come up with?"  with reluctance i appoint the calendar slot. it sounds better in passing conversation than it looks on paper. "oh we do this every year." (which actually means, "well we did this last year, and there was something about it.") fifteen minutes in and my mind wanders. yet at some unidentified, elusive moment- i am caught up.  the dance scene is funny, again. the twinkle in their eyes captivate. the film is just fine.  but the practice is incredible. ritual is not easy for my wayward spirit. i am too often awkward and unsettled. but sitting with her, again, and again- waiting, listening, hoping.  life's slow, repetitive rhythm finds me home.  

as one enters,    the other must leave. and as one delays,    i am stuck between. a bitter morning,   forgotten in afternoon warmth. i am ready,    am i ready? wait- holiday lights bring not the cold,   rather an anticipation. my ice scrapper,   in voided preseason. the earth's tilt, rotation and placement,   yes these help. but one must leave,   for the other to enter.                                      winter.

i sense an expectation to do well. task after task, accomplish summit relish. less room to outdo, i change genres. so as to solidify the game. the pressure, internal. the purpose, preservation. can i celebrate ok? find room for plain? wait? not care? not with this lingering motive.