leg raze i was sure from the way he was hoisting up his hind leg that he'd broken it. he held it aloft like something he thought might turn to ash if it touched the ground. leaning on the limbs he knew were still strong enough to keep him standing. altering his movement to work around what he no longer trusted. and i thought: no. not this again. i don't want to watch another friend die this way. but the next day he was putting weight on that leg again and only limping a little. and the day after that he was good_as_new. what i mistook for the beginning of the end was only his way of healing. there's a larger lesson here, i think, about how hard it is to avoid pressing on the parts that hurt. they aren't always scrapes or sprains we're nursing. sometimes they're people. sometimes they're places we know we shouldn't go. pockets of a pockmarked past life threatening to swallow us whole. i can hop around on one foot better than most people can walk on two of those terminal things. watch me now. 251211 what's it to you? who go blather from