Practicing Acceptance

Walking the dog and on my porch, I’m revising a novel. Watching lots of sentences go, under my hand. Getting frustrated at the new messes I’m making as I’m trying to clean up a draft. There are more squiggly lines and arrows than when I began.

The flowers remind me that perfection is fleeting. Can I enjoy what’s here and not cringe, at least for too long, at what’s leaving and what is yet to be done? Words and blooms must come and go. Trying to write well means lots of lowering of bars. Yoga isn’t all nice postures and Namastes. There’s sweat and straying thoughts and lopsided warrior poses, too.

And when I fail at patience, the dog is always eager for another walk. Where I may be inspired with an idea for another necessary mess-making revision. Or just enjoy bee hum and butterflies zig-zagging over the dirt road. Because it is summer.