Very cold and grey morning, Monday in a country village amidst the mountains. Rock pigeons cooing, black branches wet with rain, frost on the grass.
It is not easy being back and I am still disoriented, feeling fragmented. When the rain stops I shall go for a walk. Emails voicing concern from friends in the UK, the kindness of strangers. My life has a strange disconnected feel and the only thing to do is to get involved and work with others. Get back to the discipline of writing.
Things will get better, I just have to hold on and keep going through the motions. I will go out and plant some rocket seedlings in my herb barrels. Make a pot of rogan josh with basmati rice and raitas. Write to friends.
Keep doing the next right thing, as I did in early sobriety. Just putting one foot in front of another and waiting for the pain and exhaustion to recede. I have lived through so much worse.
Walking up a hill road above the village yesterday morning, I saw the scarlet curved flowers of the Erythrina, the African coral tree. That flame red against the deep blue skies, flowers like vivid beaks or tongues, flowering on the bare dark branches. My heart lifting at the sight. I just have to trust to the healing forces around me and within. And to the passage of time.