Feeding my soul in springtime

Day by day, hour by hour, act by act, slowly, slowly I work to build meaning into my existence, to draw open ever wider the dark, heavy, velvety curtains to reveal the why the how and the universe and the way to move through it without setting fire to it or collapsing under the weight of its skyscrapers and cathedrals. I am both alone and never alone. The hour is mine to fill as I please, I am the designer of my days, as a single woman of the 21st century in the free world, I am rich in the currency of time, which is directly correlated with greater uncertainty of futures, which is unnerving because in the end there are two certainties which we cannot bend: the linear unidirectional nature of time as we experience it, and the endpoint of that line. Therefore these bricks laid and decisions made or not yet made to what end? A house, a mansion? A labyrinthian city whose roads run off the grid? A house-like structure glued to a paper plate covered haphazardly with candies and left to gather dust for a decade, or two? An unfinished pile of rocks? A stonehenge, a Venus? Who will love these attempts at building? Hungrily yet methodically without knowing what for, I forage through spring trees and painted deserts, through the words, stories, equations and formulas discovered by others, through the workings of my own skeletomusculature, through the innocence of babies to sustain myself. I am often hungry but have high hopes of finding a rhythm of feeding. A regularity in my days.