The second to last week of January. The lumpiest of weeks. When even yoga and whiskey can't help. The arse of a wet dog. Malevolent as a long-brewed fart let loose in an elevator.

Yesterday I went for a country walk with Sam along the road beside the family farm. No cars, no people, just birdsong and lichen and wind. The little restless tornado in me was quelled for a moment that felt forever.

"It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do--
determined to save
the only life you could save."
- Mary Oliver

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