That person that I was, she's still there somewhere inside, but she stumbles now, hands forward to feel the way, patting each obstacle thoroughly, wondering if the best way past is over or under or around.
I stand with empty hands, with empty mind. Everything has already been given and used up and required. There's nothing more where it came from, for the moment, although the belief that the well is deep and refilling is still strong. The only way is through.
Inch-wide hoarfrost greeted me from every surface when I awoke this morning. I thought it had snowed again and felt that bifurcated ache of beauty and despair. The sky is a blinding white; it might still snow before it's over, though the temperatures hover above freezing. All the indoor plants are leaning toward the windows, yearning for the sun. I'm leaning too, the pull is irresistible. I'm hoping the sun can show me the way back to myself.