My body knows it hasn't stretched this way before, in this place, and then it hits me, not like a ton of bricks but almost like a warm gust of wind or a spray of rainbowed mist: I've been living here for just shy of six months now. Six months! In all that time I haven't pulled my arms back like this. I almost can't believe it.
Last night I curled up on the rug in the living room, snuggled up with a pile of pillows under my whisper-soft sleeping bag, and in two short hours I slept away so much fear and loss and worry that when I woke I felt I'd entered a new dimension. Lucid and changed, it scared me a little, maybe more. I'm through something.
For six months, I've been cocooned here. Four months have passed with my stereo sitting on the kitchen floor, acting as a sort of "coat-shrub". Close to two months since I got back from my trip. Almost two weeks since I saw the herbalist and the shift in vibration, the release of grief, the rush of sap through dry veins...
Spring is here, and I have a lot of work to do. I'm ready for it now.