you have burned my hands like the bulb i tried to change after it had just popped. it had burned for three hours then gave up the ghost. i wanted light immediately.
you have taken the wind from my lungs like when i dove into our new sandbox and thought the sweet, soft sand would give way like water.
you have made my mind swirl like the first time i read Finnegan’s Wake and sat outside smoking my pipe, trying to make sense of all the funny jargon and the strange situations described in such detail yet still unattainable.
you have bruised my ribs like the stubborn cattle that would not go into the chute when they did not understand that we were vaccinating them from diseases.
you have scratched my back like the briars i had to crawl through to find the deer i shot on the first day of the season. my heart was pounding with anticipation and anxiety, excitement and fear.
you have made my arms stretch like when i had to tighten the line on the jib during that nor-easter that sneaked up on us one late afternoon.
you have chapped my lips like the strong winds that blew over the mountains on my first ski trip and i didn’t realize that my jacket had special pockets made for the balm that could be applied when riding the lift.
you have strained my ears like the first time i visited the beach and wanted desperately to hear the ocean inside that tiny shell. i stood for hours and held it just hoping that all the enormous truth of those waters would be conveyed to me.
you have strengthened my heart far better than any workout could ever hope to do. it has come into its own because of you.
thank you, darling, for being my exercise and my lessons learned. thank you for taking me there and thank you for being here.
