Slowing Down

Like Rumpelstiltskin, I spin

gold out of straw.

 

The rate at which I move has slowed.

An inner demon compelled the old me—

harried, hurried, impatient—

to work so fast my motions were blurred,

made fuzzy and indeterminate

by my race to finished a task,

to be done with it and on to the next.

 

The New Me (oh, how I treasure her,

if I may be permitted such a thing)

the New Me is slow as molasses in January,

and a lot more mindful

(though who knows the mysteries of molasses-mind?)

 

Suffice it to say

that the New Me accomplishes less—

and spends more time doing it.

What a blessing.

 

 

Copyright 2012 Ann Tudor

www.anntudor.ca
http://www.scenesfromthejourney.blogspot.com