There’s something of a tumbleweed in me.

This flitting from activity to activity.  Breathless.  A just completed pillow lies draped over my sewing machine.  Three dolls dismembered lay waiting to be finished next to a finished bald one.  A handmade tent lies like a defeated army beneath a desk waiting for the medics to come and put up poles.  Four finished quilt tops await backs while two completed quilt backs wonder when their tops will materialize.  A heap of wood wants to be a wall rack for art supplies.  A piece of painted molding is waiting for a working saw to become that cabinet door to keep the baby from breaking another bowl.

Sometimes I can call it Attention Deficit Disorder.  Sometimes its more of a Gradious Feeling that I can conquer the world.  Sometimes it’s just dreams materializing like the instructions for the ark; I, the vessel…or vassal perhaps, just waiting on the next step to be revealed.

But most of all it’s fear.  Fear of staying still.  Fear of being somewhere complete.  Fear of setting down roots and of being defined as you see fit.