The waiting is the hardest part

I like it when life is hard.
I like it when life is easy.
I like it when I am actively working towards something, anything, as long as there is work to occupy me.  Easy or hard, work is good.

Currently I'm waiting.
I could be working towards something as I wait and maybe I am, now that I think of it.
Working on improving myself.
Always working with my children because they never stop growing, changing, becoming something new.
But, still I feel as though, more then anything, I am waiting.

Today as I walked my dogs, I moved beneath a blanket of grey clouds, which sat so low, I felt as though I could reach up my hand, poke my finger through the fogginess and force a hole for the water to fall through.  I found myself waiting for the rain to begin, wondering when it would interrupt my walking, when it would force a change.  I'd walk an additional 1/4 mile and then another, then another, looking at the sky, telling it to begin to rain, pushing it to make the change.   The rain never started and eventually I stopped hiking, but not waiting and I went home.    Now here I sit, looking out the window still or maybe just again waiting for something that won't come when I tell it to.

I read Mary Oliver's Wild Geese, which so often soothes me, since I found her poetry in October 2010; it surprises me which line will reach out and touch me, each time I read it.  It's never the same, it's never what I expect and maybe that's why I love this particular poem.
"Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, the world offers itself to your imagination, calls to you harsh and exciting, like the wild geese".
I'm waiting for you to call to me world.  I'm waiting for the harsh, exciting sounds "announcing my place in the family of things".
Don't take too long.