Friday, October 13, 2017

“That’s the big question, the one the world throws at you every morning. ‘Here you are, alive. Would you like to make a comment?’”

~ Mary Oliver, Long Life: Essays and Other Writings

I wake, heavy, under a blanket of pain.

Hello, old friend. It’s been a while.

There have been signs for a few days now: a twinge here, an ache there, a cloud descending. It didn’t occur to me, though. It rarely does.

Maybe it’s a change of weather, a change in something I’ve eaten, an added stressor, who knows. I’ve never been able to figure out a trigger.

I take stock and try to identify the places of pain. That’s hard; it’s everywhere.

Coffee. Coffee will help. Not really, but it will make me feel better, and perhaps ease my headache.

A hot shower, maybe a hot bath later.

Essential oils.

This afternoon, a cup of that expensive tea, sipped slowly, cuddled under a quilt with a book and my pup.


This too shall pass.

Even in this there are gifts.


I’m a writer, reader, and creative. I thought by now I’d have things figured out, but I keep coming up with more questions. I think that’s okay. I’m here most mornings pondering ordinary things and the thin places where faith intersects.
1 comment
  1. Call me crazy, but this photo reminds me of an old/older woman, wearing crepey clothes and dancing. We might be old, withered….but we still dance.

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