As I sit here, staring at the horizon, I can't help but wonder what it must be like to have a place to call home. I don't mean a structure, or even a city. I mean a place to belong. Somewhere that makes you feel safe. Like I imagine I felt as a child.
I count on my own self for that I suppose, just as I always have. I suppose I could have stayed at the foot of the mountains with the Ironhands, but in spite of all they had done, and the years spent, that was not my home. But, I'm done thinking of that subject for awhile. It only serves to irritate me and distract me.
I made it back to the markets today, this time I actually managed to sell my whole haul. Well, most of it anyway. I couldn't help but notice the smell of something sweet coming from Old Mother's fire on the way, so I just had to investigate. She was of course making mellon pie. She knew right off what was on my mind when I crested the hill.
Without a word, she offered a piece. And, as usual I was all too eager to share it with her. I don't know what it is that compels me so. I feel for these people. Most are looked on as beggars and thieves. And I have no doubts that some are. But they must eat too, right? They look to Old Mother as an elder I suppose. They respect her, and some will seek her council. But I know full well, when food gets scarce they will let her starve.
My usual payment, I gave her a decent size slab of the meat. Now, she doesn't fool me. She would have me believe she keeps it for herself. But I know that she makes her stew and passes it out to the children. I don't need all the meat anyway, I still had three pelts to sell. It's a hard way to make a living, yes. But to me, it's worth it.
I don't mind. I've no desire to be wealthy, or have praises sung to me. I only wish to make my way and be able to acquire what I need. Anything else is extra. Of course, even though I may give part of my haul away from time to time, my motives are not entirely selfless. It makes me feel better about things. Takes my attention from the things that trouble me in the back of my mind and quiets them for a time. So yes, I have to admit, what some see as generosity is more self serving than one would believe. What exactly does that say about me? I'm not sure I want to know that answer.
I think this writing things down stuff might actually help. Last night, I laid down with a clear mind and fell asleep with little trouble. Much better than my usual tossing before frustration sets in and eventually exhaustion. We'll see how I sleep tonight before I give any hope.
I count on my own self for that I suppose, just as I always have. I suppose I could have stayed at the foot of the mountains with the Ironhands, but in spite of all they had done, and the years spent, that was not my home. But, I'm done thinking of that subject for awhile. It only serves to irritate me and distract me.
I made it back to the markets today, this time I actually managed to sell my whole haul. Well, most of it anyway. I couldn't help but notice the smell of something sweet coming from Old Mother's fire on the way, so I just had to investigate. She was of course making mellon pie. She knew right off what was on my mind when I crested the hill.
Without a word, she offered a piece. And, as usual I was all too eager to share it with her. I don't know what it is that compels me so. I feel for these people. Most are looked on as beggars and thieves. And I have no doubts that some are. But they must eat too, right? They look to Old Mother as an elder I suppose. They respect her, and some will seek her council. But I know full well, when food gets scarce they will let her starve.
My usual payment, I gave her a decent size slab of the meat. Now, she doesn't fool me. She would have me believe she keeps it for herself. But I know that she makes her stew and passes it out to the children. I don't need all the meat anyway, I still had three pelts to sell. It's a hard way to make a living, yes. But to me, it's worth it.
I don't mind. I've no desire to be wealthy, or have praises sung to me. I only wish to make my way and be able to acquire what I need. Anything else is extra. Of course, even though I may give part of my haul away from time to time, my motives are not entirely selfless. It makes me feel better about things. Takes my attention from the things that trouble me in the back of my mind and quiets them for a time. So yes, I have to admit, what some see as generosity is more self serving than one would believe. What exactly does that say about me? I'm not sure I want to know that answer.
I think this writing things down stuff might actually help. Last night, I laid down with a clear mind and fell asleep with little trouble. Much better than my usual tossing before frustration sets in and eventually exhaustion. We'll see how I sleep tonight before I give any hope.
