There are mountains
to be moved
everywhere I look

On the days
I feel good
I tackle them with glee:
my loads of laundry
my piles of paper
my endless lists
of ways to improve
my health
and happiness
and those of the world
around me,
creating order
from chaos
and glory
from challenge.

On the days
I do not
they close in on me,
these mountains,
while storms gather above
and the ground turns swampy
below
and the loads
and the piles
and the endless lists
transform themselves
into fat, hulking beasts
ogres
trolls
taunting me
with their bad breath
and b.o.
and their fat, hulking mass
of impenetrability.

In my finer moments
I remember
that each mountain
is made of many small bits
and unmade
by removing them
one at a time

I don't remember
when I don't need to
but when I do
grace is usually there
to remind me
with a tap on the shoulder
a whisper in the ear
to do one thing now,

Just one, small thing

And lo,
I am moving mountains
again.

xxx
c

Image by Diego Cupolo via Flickr, used under a Creative Commons license.