limping deer are angels in disguise

When the body collides with the ground without permission, the days turn soft and gray. Odd, the sensation of crumpled legs, my curled form writhing in nauseating pain in a room of young eyes.

Pain, public momentary mortality flares through the openings of muscle and bone, brings out the humility. I am taken back decades of mankind’s actions as those, now am confident in my label, my friends, companions, tend to the wounded animal. 

In pain, you are forced to be caring towards yourself, only to speed up the process of recovery. I never held this gentle of a hand to myself, to my physical form in a very long time. I move in increments. I am more aware of my surroundings. I am willed to stay in every second I move, my day is a strategy. Calls now, to not get into the depths of myself, I ask what's wrong and never assume. No hope in drowning in that rabbit hole of worries. Anyway. RICE. 

Chicken broth in rice is one of man's cleverest inventions, I shall never return to water in my rice-making endeavors.