The year gone by

I am often overwhelmed by my life moving with the precision of an old clock. Well oiled, yet falling apart without notice. In motion like the gong but peppered with stillness, which comes when the mind drops pace to see the needle turn a minute. The meaning of my ambition has made a tectonic leap. I am just a mom on most days. Once I felt guilty about switching gears. Now I hold on to what I have come to have like rosary beads. Turning it over and over again, as I mediate before my computer screen.