Like Winter Without Snow

The little key in my back is starting to slow down.  The cup is getting dangerously close to only an eighth full.  Been living my life in one hour increments around all the duties and diligence and i'm having trouble enjoying it.  Now, i don't blame anyone, living or metaphorical.  i don't think They did this to me, nor do i blame Life.  i'm guessing that if i ever meet They and Life, they'll be complaining of the same thing.  i keep finding moments that make it worthwhile.  Precious little nuggets stuck in the cold, clamp of black earth and i dig them out and treasure them but as with most things, their gleam is truly only appreciated where you find them.  Like taking a shell from the ocean.  It never quite looks as shiny and perfect on your bookcase as it did right there in the tumult of the waves.  So i stagger along, with a weather eye out for more but is that living?  Could there be more?

i'll have to ask Dad and get back to you.