The stories in my head still unwritten
The books on the cart still unread
The puzzles in the cupboard still unassembled
The connection to the land still distant
The walks through the wilds still not taken
No yoga, no meditation, no movie marathons
A stack of cards still unaddressed
I had so many plans for this time, but did not account for the time I would need to heal.
The time for the anesthetic and pain killers to take their leave.
The time for rest and recovery I didn’t realize I’d need.
The time to process what was happening to me.
The time to build up the courage to remove the bandages and get used to what I see.
The cumulative moments to consider that I may be living on borrowed time and what that truly means.