Restlessness stirs my soul much in the same way one absent-mindedly stirs a cup of hot tea.  Sips of thoughts wander around in aimless circles dissolving as easily as a teaspoon of sugar might.  They drift away as easily as the steam blows away with the softness of a sigh. 

 Thoughts, wandering off in an aimless fashion, like the clouds in the sky.  Helpless to follow any direction except what the wind wills.   Attempts to grasp them are like trying to capturing the tendrils of an early morning fog, a mistiness that clings to you even in its elusiveness to evade your touch.

 Restless thoughts without substance yet with the power to leave a longing in the soul that cannot be controlled nor ignored.  A longing so sweet it brings the mistiness of tears to the eyes.  Their meaning hovers on the horizon of forgetfulness, leaving behind a yearning to try to remember them.  The frustration only adds to the restlessness that wanders the maze of the heart to the soul.

 Restlessness stirs my soul, creating a powerful need that I am powerless to control.   A need I do not understand, whose fathomless depths seek to drown me.  A want that is just out of reach, yet as close as the touch of a shadow.  Just as helpless to lose. 

 A need that is confusion in its complexity to be understood.  A need whose substance is the mist left over from the roar of a falling waterfall.  A need that drowns you beneath the tumbling waters leaving you gasping for breath.  Then it sets you adrift down the chasm of your soul.  Leaving you feeling lost and without direction.

 Restlessness stirs my soul, its touch as elusive as an early morning dream. Touches of insanity that only dreams can make sane.  Fragments of memory, little hints at remembrance and promises of the clearing of confusion.  Whispers that trickle along the back of the mind, lost echoes that strain to be heard.  Mirror reflections of ambivalent thoughts.

 A restlessness stirs my soul and I am lost in it.

It is day froth with ambivalence. The weather is to blame, as it cannot seem to make up its own mind. It will start to rain, and then suddenly it stops. The wind will blow for a bit then it will be still. The sun shines but the clouds are dark overhead. How can I make up my own mind when I am surrounded by such ambivalent behavior? I go out to garden, then it rains, I go in and am undecided what to do. I go out again when it clears, only to be blown around by the wind. I go back in and wander around aimlessly. I go out again wearing a sweatshirt and I am over heated. I run in, take it off, and come out and the wind picks up and mocks me with its coldness.

I suppose I should respond with amusement at its mockery of decisiveness. To laugh at my own determination to garden in the face of such ambivalence. Maybe the weather has its own sense of humor and is laughing at me at the tricks is likes to play.

Maybe the two of us will smile and salute each other in recognition of the playful ambivalence. However, I imagine when I head out one more time the weather is going to get the last laugh!

Lulled into believing the wind had died down and the summer showers had abated I wandered outside again. Soon after settling into my gardening, the weather with a mischievous blow of the wind sent the rain showers down upon me again. Determined to wait them out I continued on with my gardening. The wind picked up and the rain came down harder. I continued on, calling the weather's bluff, and believing it would soon quit.

As the rain continued to come down harder, I gave a big sigh. Gathering up my gardening tools, I was ready to throw in the towel. A soggy one at that. As I headed out of my gardens, I spied the bright red blush of a ripe strawberry dripping with droplets of rain. Pulling my garden gloves off, I plucked that ripe berry and popped it in my mouth. I savored the sweet freshness that only a freshly picked homegrown strawberry has. With a smile, I continued to pick and enjoy strawberry after strawberry. The rain and wind no longer matter only the simple enjoyment of my homegrown strawberries.

Suddenly the sun came out and I smiled. As I savored another strawberry, I lifted my face to the falling rain, closed my eyes, and smiled into the shining sun above. I don't believe a more perfect moment existed.  A moment so special that it nourishes the soul.

After a few more strawberries the rain let up, the wind quieted down, the sun continued to shine, and I went back to my gardening. I believe the weather and I had called a momentary truce.  As the day waned, I wandered back inside. As I disappeared inside the weather went back to its ambivalence.

Later that evening from the sanctuary of our kitchen, the kids and I watched it pour. As the rain fell, the sun came out with a shining brilliance and we went in search of rainbows.

It has been a very long time since I have wandered over to this journal.  I feel a bit on the lost side but with feelings of nostalgia and a longing to run my fingers along the framework.   A longing to wander down familiar almost forgotten paths, a longing that took me back reading over past entries.   Some made me smile, others brought tears to my eyes, and I had to ask myself, “Why did I stop writing?”

I have excuses but really no good reasons.  Maybe a laziness of the mind or maybe just a fuzziness of time moving by without a comprehension of how much truly has slipped on by.  A fleeting thought of how much has been forgotten.   A twinge of sadness tweaks the heart at such a thought.  Maybe that tweak is the start of becoming motivated to write again?  However, is sadness a reason to write?  What of joy, humor, or even just contentment.   What of the daily mundane or is that better forgotten?  Maybe the mundane would be a good start, a beginning to learning to play with the words again.  

A playground, stumbled back upon, with fond memories to reflect back on and maybe new ones to create. New memories to forge new paths that later can be reflected upon and not forgotten.  A reason to play again, or to play for the simple joy of playing.

To write again, for the simple joy of writing.