Oh, how nice if it were that kind of bay; the sun-warmed, surf-soaked, gull-studded kind. I'm afraid the experience these last few days hasn't been nearly as nice, here in the sickbay.
But, even though, at one point I was pretty sure that if death decided to pay a visit, I'd seriously consider going, I had to remember, too, that even in disaster, in heartache, in loss, in bleeding, in the spent and broken places, even in the sickbay, small as it is in comparison, life hands you little gifts.
In the middle of the taking, life gives.
From the bay, I saw a bald eagle cutting the sharp morning air in that familiar wing-beat rhythm. There were mourning doves, preening themselves among the swollen tree buds, their song joining the next twitter, and the next, until together they pushed my window open and came inside. I watched the mystery as a house fly, a wasp, and a mosquito took wing for the first time on that longer-lit day. Then, in the evening dusk, as the western sky paged from cobalt to navy, Canada geese honked, stitching their black chevron into the blue.
Little gifts.
Ten pretty toes, polished the coral-red of a brighter season, kept peeking at me from beneath my covers, knowing I always feel better with pretty toes. Oh, I do. Toast, swirled with peanut butter and sweet wild honey, made by a boy, with tea beside, and milk beside that. A freezer with boxes of fruit pops, a cabinet with bottles of medicine. An audio book that was long enough for the long hours, a website that was, too.
Little gifts.
Water. Gallons upon gallons of cold spring water, into my body, into the sickness, rescuing, slowly rescuing. Water. Gallons upon gallons of cold spring water, heated to nearly scalding, to dip into, to warm the shivering body when nothing else would. Then, through the wide open window, crisp winter-spring air, to cool the body when nothing else would. A candle, even though I didn't even think of it until several days had passed, a candle.
Little gifts.
There wasn't a single stitch knitted; not a strand of colored floss was looped through the needle. Not this time.
Just rest.
And little gifts.
Wishing you a gentle week's beginning, friends, whichever bay you're in.
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