Healing is hard work.
There are days the body goes on strike and says, nope, not gonna happen, not today.
All I can do is make friends with patience, though I often wish for other companions. We sit on the porch and I try to appreciate her gifts.
Like finding pain relief in tiny spring blooms, and joy in silence, and courage to let go of the day as I planned it. Patience doesn’t chatter.
Hers is a slow wisdom. She can take weeks to complete a thought.
But she is faithful. She doesn’t shun the hard work. Perhaps, indeed, she makes it holy.