She Exhales

When feeling grief at it strongest, you think you’ll die.  But you don’t.  The mornings and nights keep coming.  You find yourself distracted by that, the way life goes on.  A crocus appears in the winter ground.  A week later, a carpet of daffodils bloom where there was only winter-nipped grass.  Tulip magnolias open on leafless trees. Camellias drop at your feet.  You exhale.  Your breath joins a billion others, giving life to earth, and the earth breathes back oxygen, and you live, you live, you live.  You lower your shoulders, the grief somehow transformed into a scar, tough and visible, like so many you carry, like skin, like life.  Flexible now, you remember to exhale, as you move into the new day.

11 she exhales
She Exhales, acrylic and ink on canvas, 8×10″ by Joy Murray

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