Fear

Fear is swirling in the air with the yellow leaves around the yard. Fear chills the back of my neck whenever I am reminded that time is ticking and the bank account is emptying. Everything happens for a reason - usually a good, grand-designed reason. Fear must be a byproduct of doubt. Unless it is a flight-or-fight, charging bull fear, it's only manufactured by my logic brain. My practical brain. The part of my brain that likes to reassure my family that we will not be lacking for long. I'm selling bogus hope to hang on to real hope. Blindly reaching for the next rope. It's there somewhere, right?