The Fear

There is fear inside me. It doesn’t rear it’s ugly head often. I wouldn’t say “I live in fear,” but fear definitely lives in me. Most days I never see it. Walking from the house to the mail box, I don’t worry about snakes or wolves or anything terribly irrational. Running errands in town, I don’t worry about having an accident, or the kids burning the house down while I am gone. I am, as far as I can tell, functional and normal and fine. … But other times . . . I don’t know how to shake it. Maybe