Doors

Morning arrives too soon, already sweltering and relentless. I drag a heavy head to a kitchen table, to a coffee cup, to a pair of running shoes. Arrive at the river long after it's become unbearable, stumble a few miles and land on a patch of clover, letting the sweat drip as I search for four leafed promises underneath my skin. The phone stirs relentlessly, Sunday chatters and yet not what you're looking for, it's a practice in patience. I stare at the river and dream of the ocean, I dream of a lot of things but I don't sleep nearly as much as I need to. Play the reel over again. A to do list circles your drain, you are tired and impatient at the same time, you know the only answer is work. Watch the cursor blink at the edge of your screen, the minutes race around your watch. The obstacles writhe and stretch and build themselves in front of your nose.

The only way to get over them is to start climbing.