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.

~~~

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