crystals & quiet

the snow is here again. i remember last year, shoveling our

way out from downstairs, forging a path through the tall

 

wall of white, pushing up-hill to break out into the day.

i donned my grandmother’s boots, with plastic bags in-

 

side, and walked. it’s amazing how many people walk in

the snow—people you’ve never seen before, waving their

 

woven mittens, wide smiles under wide brims. the streets are

so clean—and every-thing is covered in an eerie-beautiful sheen

 

of crystals & quiet. this year, i sit looking out the window—

waiting for the neighbor’s kids to trespass into my front yard, maybe

 

leave some evidence in the form of a snowman. i wanted to kick

them out a few months ago. now, i wait for them like i wait for the

 

sun, like i wait for my broken foot to heal. it is a slow process. i’ve

become accustomed to patience over the years; i have accepted my

 

turtle state. but this is a new form of waiting. my whole body is

weary of being sedentary, is longing to walk, to run, to jump, to

 

be in the world. my spirit is tired of depending on others, of being at

their mercy, of painstakingly measuring out every movement to

 

avoid further injury. but i am grateful that i am not alone, even when

i am. i am grateful i have another working foot. i am grateful that

 

this one will eventually work again. i think of all the people who will

never walk, who are confined to a chair, a couch, a bed. confinement

 

takes on a whole new meaning when you are suddenly in those iron

shoes. it is a heavy realization, how fortunate we are even when we

 

feel our worst. i know there are things to be learned here, now and

always. eventually these things will break through this stubborn

 

cast and burrow their way to the core. i am waiting——

to be pure, to be whole, to be more loving toward each

 

person in their own crystalline prison; to be more

loving toward my flawed, flurried self.

 

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