I’ve been visiting a chiropractor, a gentle one.  He walks with quite a stoop and flirts unmercifully as the old gents do.  It is comforting.

He said my head wasn’t screwed on right.  (I’ve heard that one before.)

He is moving my bones.  My very structure standing on the earth is shifting.  As a tree finds new rootings with an earthquake or flood, I’m being transplanted.

What was I aligned with–leaning to much on another?  Reaching out and becoming out of balance?  Sprouting branches that were broken off in the winter’s wind?

Not sure.  But there is a shift going on.

In the meantime I sit in the dusk of morning watching the trees peek out from the night.  Welcoming gods, reminding me to stand in my good, soak up the tears for good, bow to the good day.