chicken and worm.

first page of my first children's book .

sore life.

my left ankle gives out unless i wrap it. the wrap gives me a charlie horse in my foot. sometimes i wear it and brave the cramp. sometimes i leave it and brave the sprain. the palm of my right foot is always sore.

but i still run. not as fast or far as i once could... not as fast or far as i thought i once would.

but i still run.

renewed.

i have dreamt of being in a windy field with a vibrant sky. the wind blows my hair gently across my face and i'm crying. i'm fully at peace. there's no other person with me, but i sense the presence of all i love. there is no darkness or turmoil within me. when i brush my hand over the tall grass it soaks in through my skin.
the breeze blows around me
over me
through me.

i wake up. sit up. there's an ache in my chest - that feeling of trying to take a deep breath in cold air...where before you breathe in enough to satisfy, it feels as if your lungs would crack and burst. a feeling like a sponge that wants to soak up the water... but is too hard and dry. like a rubber-band that wants to stretch but is brittle and broken.

i hobble to the window with one hand on my aching side and the other pressed against my chest. my eyes squint against the brilliant sun piercing through the trees.

...my lungs can't fill with air enough. my eyes can't open wide enough.

one day.

l i g h t

it might be from anywhere.

from where does the light seep through the cracks of the solid wooden door?
a city perhaps - the other side of this cool damp wall beside me may border a street all a hustle and a bustle. men, woman, children and pets going here and there all dressed up or down for this or that.
or maybe a pasture - the dampness on the wall is dew from the stream close by that twinkled in the cool evening that may have ended just moments ago.

from when does the dull light trickle in?
it might be anytime of day ...or week, or month, or season, or year. the time is irrelevant.

perhaps the house (if indeed this small windowless sanctuary is located in a house at all) is empty and has been for days - the furniture may be dusty, the food molding in the cupboards, windows broken, everything utterly unkempt.
perhaps.
it may be filled with guests who are having a party and wondering where i have run off to. dinner is sitting there ready to be eaten and i am no where to be seen! they may at this very moment be scuttling about here and there calling my name and searching in vain for me. the walls must be thick, i can't hear an outward thing.

in any case, no one shall find me here. who would be silly enough to entertain even the thought of a young woman my age actually sitting and dreaming in a closet?