water like mud

Sometimes the days feel so heavy. Thick. I imagine waking up in the morning and slicing through the hours to come with grace and ease. Anticipating the turbulence and currents and obstacles and moving to adapt and using their momentum to soar. A bird. A fish. Moving free and unhindered through my life. 

When a small sticky child has wrapped themselves around my ankles and I almost drop the warm milk that's been left all morning on the counter onto the head of her sister, running too fast, frantic, about to trip on the rug and I know that I cannot move to stop it, and I am annoyed that she is running again, and whining again, and hungry again, and sick again, and needs me again and I resent her tears because I want to be the one crying...well that is the opposite of soaring with lightness and ease. And that is how it goes. And that is this life. And even so, it is grace.