Saying my peace in yesterday’s post about my Monday’s misgivings was apparently not enough. I should know myself well enough to expect that, when such emotions are close enough to the surface to write about, I truly must be at my wit’s end. When I am at my wit’s end, I become ill. Not just emotionally. But my body breaks down with the spirit, all of which are, of course, intertwined. I ended up feeling ill Monday morning, quite unintentionally (ie, not a hooky day). My body decided to take a rest, and I had no other choice. I took a sick day, which I almost never do. By mid-day, I had begun to feel a bit better. I had rested some and, I hope, gained some fresh perspective. It was warm, but I felt well enough for a stroll through the forest–better for me than any medication or therapy–the perfect cure. In the few short days since I’d last strolled down into the woods, I was amazed at what had come alive. Buds were forming and beginning to open. The forest floor was carpeted with a variety of small, colorful flowers–white, yellow, purple–peeking out as if to say, “it’s time, right?” Nature is a great teacher. It cycles. It dies and is reborn. It is colorful and drab. If you wait long enough, sometimes just a matter of a few days or even a few moments, something new unfolds to change the scene. I am not sure what my next step will be. I am confident that something will unfold or, perhaps, is already unfolding for me and I am not yet aware of it. I just need to keep walking my path.