Exhaustion

There's tired.  And then there's the kind of tired where your feet drag on the sidewalk, where the spoon drifts away between bowl and target.  Where you wish the chatter in your mind could be stilled long enough to sleep for eight hours - or even six. 

And you wonder: Perhaps the problem is only waiting to be solved until I stop mothering it.  Perhaps, if I were able to look the other way, the plants could creep from their hiding places underground and blossom into color.