Storm

There's a string of thunder storms passing through.  I took my tea up to the rock outcropping by the house (where we will be burying Gil's ashes and planting a Maple tree for him next Spring) .  I'd set up a "club house" shelter  for the 3 billy goats gruff but they hadn't quite gotten it that it was a great place to wile away a storm out of the rain.   They finally joined me and snuggled up toasty warm as the wind and rain, thunder and lightning flailed away.    
I needed that      I am soooo tired
Tired of cleaning and refinancing and  keeping track of things.
Perhaps all I need to do is find some shelter and hang out chewing my cud (or drinking tea as the case may be)  til I find the energy to move on.   Perhaps I'm trying to get on with my life too soon.  I'm having a hard time finding the thread of it right now.  I wonder if I'll ever be excited, inspired again?
Enough.
Midwest storms humble me, make me feel small in the good way that mountains and oceans do.
I found a poem this morning which spoke to me.

War Some of the Time by Charles Bukowski when you write a poem it needn't be intense it can be nice and easy and you shouldn't necessarily be concerned only with things like anger or love or need; at any moment the greatest accomplishment might be to simply get up and tap the handle on that leaking toilet; I've done that twice now while typing this and now the toilet is quiet. to solve simple problems: that's the most satisfying thing, it gives you a chance and it gives everything else a chance too. we were made to accomplish the easy things and made to live through the things hard.