There is a low low hum, like a distant machine about to malfunction. I feel it in my centre - my eyes darting to my yarn, my books, my paint brush...
Fortunately I recognise it immediately. The hunger for doing, the innateness of doing.
Pulling back is not my style, but I rein myself in. Not to deny myself, but as a reminder to feed on quality not quantity. The fertile centre is within me. I can take this wherever I go, unbound by Stuff.
I have only just awoken. Keep breathing, breathing, filling myself with stillness, allowing mind-space for words words words.
I turn to the click-clack of letters, feasting.
- - -
my new friend - the little memory