Today, I have cobalt sadness and persimmon anxiety. 

I have clunky depression and prickly frustration.

I have nagging dull pain and odd fluttering sensations.

I have no uplifting energy, yet no ability to surrender to delicious relaxation.

I have regrets about crooked missteps. 

I have a colorful history of crooked missteps.

I have wavering hearing loss in one ear that goes in and out like my breath. 

Yet, I do have my breath. 

And I have moments of sweet release.

I have the chance to soak in the buttery sunlight pouring through my window.

I have cats with endearing expressions and impossibly soft fur. 

I have a husband with these same qualities, except he has hair. 

I have seen the first orange-breasted robin of spring. 

Actually, I have seen the first ten of them.

(I have to remind myself, it’s not a competition.) 

I have a tribe, though small, that gets me.

And I have to admit, that’s HUGE.  

Still, today it feels a lot like I have nothing.

And sometimes that’s just what I have to feel for a little while. 

So I have given myself… permission.