Awakening from the deep sleep that exhausted grief confers, I blew my nose to loosen the snot from tears still stuck. I got up to pee. The studio was lit by the skylights, dim in the mid morning late winter light. Curious, I returned to the scene of my pain. I touched the rough weave of the sofa - had I truly despaired so thoroughly just hours before?
I ran my fingers along the edge of my pastel paintings, wiped the dust on my pajama bottoms.
The kitchen beckoned. I couldn't stand the sound of the blender for a smoothie - I craved stillness where my Self could reverberate in the emptiness left after the feelings finally escaped.
Slowly I cut a slice of bread off the loaf. Waited, still, while it toasted. Took it out gingerly, not wanting the excess heat to burn my fingers. Butter, jam. A hard boiled egg's jiggle against the pan was too much activity so I settled for just bread and water.
The sounds of studded tires on icy cobblestone road accompanied by the Cathedral's quarter hourly chimes stirred me up too much.
I dressed warmly and drove to the forest outside of town. I parked in a small lot that had been plowed and took my camera for companionship. It was a bright blue sky day with fresh snow glaring all around. The crunch of icy snow underfoot made me watch my step when I wasn't awakening to the beauty all around me. As I awoke to the trees, the sky, the snow, the freshness, my emptiness was filling with life.
To be continued...
