It is Sunday and it is snowing and the moon is full in virgo who looks in on the measure of my devotions and finds me taking the day off, derailed by yesterday's frontline actions. I wake still off my rhythm, feeling burdened, clod-limbed, unwieldy.

The snow says: Surprise!

The snow says: Hush.

The snow says: Emergency measures are called for. Triage. What most needs tending?

I flutter about like a broken winged bird. Or a bird feigning breakage to distract attention from the fledglings. It is my own attention I am distracting. There are things I should not lift and carry when my hands are like this.

Like what?

Detached from my heart.

I am grateful for the snow. And the way things are softly clicking into position, undercover. The patience of a wide embrace, the crook and the cloak of it.