nobodies business.

I feel rough. Rough around the edges, rough around the soul.

Like a rough gravelly drive, looking over at her nemesis Enchantment, a slow moving creek with grassy banks.

I feel jagged and broken; nothing is fluid, nothing is smooth.

I want to be easy to take, like the weathered maple syrup cabin sitting on the side of the hill, framed by the woods.

Easy like a forest in autumnal flame.

Easy like water on the lake.

I should be that hillside, covered in nature. Permanent and home.

Winter has a hold on me; I’m dying for spring. A flower in frost.

Thank God the joke's on me.