The wind is strong and almost steady.
The leaves make the most glorious swoosh-swoosh-swoossssshhhhh.
And the same three pipes of the windchime take turns singing.
The clock behind me says tick-ah, tick-ah, tick-ah, tick-ah.
The pendulum on the grandfather clock beside me just barely keeps up.
My eyes and my ears struggle to make them get in sync, but can’t.
And so I move so that I can no longer see the pendulum.
(Or is it just problem ignored?)
(Is it even really a problem?)
I try to count all the different birds I hear.
Onetwothreefourfive…I easily differentiate.
But there are too many coos to count.
I close my eyes and let my limbs hang heavy.
Dropping my chin and rolling my head round and round gently,
I am acutely aware of the hundreds of muscles in my neck, chest, shoulder, arms.
Bending further, I feel the pull in my lower back.
A deep breath burns in my lungs.
I imagine that each strained muscle is a hurt, a heartache.
I feel the pain of the world on my shoulders.
(How cliché, but true.)
The brokenness of friends weigh heavily on my chest.
My own bitterness radiates down each arm.
Filling every crevice of my torso until I can no longer take in any more.
And with release, relief rushes in.
Each breath, a prayer.
Each breath, a petition.
Each breath, a plea.