It's a steep path going down. It bends and winds. Bordered by remnants of prickly wild brush. The rose hips shrunken, brown, and scarce. But once started there is no return.
The bottom promises a brief respite yet the goal is far off and deeply engraved in still another climb.
I've been standing, or rather fidgeting, at the precipice. Battling between escapism and promise of a difficult journey. Waiting. Confessing that I am a poor wait-er. But making preparations nonetheless.
The farm lies resting under the white cold. Mounds of deeply mulched garlic causing sand dune-like drifts in the snow. The hoop house is motionless and gray, reflective of the sky. All is quiescent. Resting. Blue jays cry in the sky. The soaring bald one effortlessly glides. Blueberry bushes buried. Horse weed seed nourishing the sparrows. Our bees clustered.
The port was inserted yesterday.
It is time.
Time to start down the Road. Of chemotherapy, biological agents, steroids, antihistamines and tummy medicine. Of surgery, recovery, radiation, and more biological agents. Of relying. Of obvious vulnerability.
Holding on to the One who goes with me. Who goes before me. And is behind me.
Today's Journey Joys: tumbling dryers, lavender pasta and grilled chicken, moist warmer winter day, wounds that heal, ports which make access easier, a quiet day of rest and solitude, faithful Words, grace... oh, for grace.
