Poetry and Wriggles
Orange flakes falling from the sky
Rust colored crunchy carpet
Sunlight fractured and sharp
Wind biting at fingers and toes
I burrow closer
- 11/11/11
The house has an undercurrent of chill. Layers are strewn on furniture for rapid retrieval at every arm’s length. The idea of moving more (even when I know it is the best thing for me) feels laughable. NO! Shouts my brain. That powerful, gorgeous madness - she’s trying to keep me safe. Comfortable. Even at my own, slow peril.
Safe and comfortable.
I tell her I need to move in order to feel good and whole.
She laughs. It’s cold outside this cocoon of blanket burrito comfort.
I move anyway.
And feel good. And whole.
I laugh.
Get your wriggle on…
#walkwithjoy