Busy busy busy. Life took a slightly downward turn there for a while. I guess it was my own doing. I put myself into a house that was not a home and sought refuge with a person who couldn't hold me the way I needed to be held. I broke under pressure and have suffered severely from it. The big bad wolf is after me still, sensing a way to take advantage. I fear, I live in fear, I fear the dark, the shadows and the boogie-man behind every corner... lurking just out of sight.
I ran to a place I feel would shelter me. And shelter me it did. Fed, watered, tissues passed. Care in every visible meaning of the word. Comfort does not come so easily especially when the demonds are in your own mind and eating you alive. Out of habit I head home like a Swallow. I hide with my head in the sand. I am the Emu who runs and the Ostrich who hides.
I fear that I hide in loudness and brash behaviour. Here in the land of my birth I have spread my social wings and tried to reap the comfort from social support. I fear I am attention-craving, loud and brash like the Magpie. I can only hope that I am as graceful, elegant and respected as the Currawong. The sound of it's song so much sweeter than that of the crying Magpie; the broken, scared and hurt Magpie.
