Perch

I was about a mile away from home on my run this morning when I passed under a barren tree that had a big puffy bird's nest perched right smack in the middle of its fragile branches. The uncertainty of the nest's stability was like a plump granny in a thong--it really could go either way.

I stopped under the tree and, craning my neck, stared up into the bottom of the nest and nodded in respectful approval to whatever bird had the balls to have her babies in such a risky situation. I feel like that bird sometimes, I do. Starting over at the age of 34, flying around the universe with my babies in tow, a bunch of shit in my mouth (shit in my mouth?) looking for a place to start over. I can just imagine how that bird felt, you know? Exhausted and pregnant with an uncertain future like Mary and Joseph and the damn donkey looking around for anything, anywhere, that could house this chaos until we can get our shit together and our nest built. 

That's all I have to say, really. Sometimes there isn't really any sort of peaceful conclusion. Sometimes life is scary, and often it won't be "okay." As long as my loved ones are nestled around me in our warm pile of loving feathers, then we will survive.