Good Grief 271

Long slog of a week with diminishing sleep.
The news seems to be perpetually grim and I have less capacity to face it.
Work is exhausting and feels frequently unmanageable.
I am trying to add something that keeps me from sinking each day, either a change, or some point of peculiarity that helps switch into other perspectives but which is achievable in the long haul that each day feels.
I sit with a persistent sense of that parallel time. Today it was a profound sense of loss of touch. Of breath. Of breathing. Of life. Of what it is/was to be living and breathing, to be in a body that has life.
The feeling of dread is palpable even though it has no place now. Other than it is always there to be had.
This place was beautiful, another place, a different, time, a deep,y enclosing world, found at the end of the day. The bee progressed from bell to bell as it has always done. The drone of the bee, the fast flow of the waterfall merged on their path into the modern world and I followed them back down the lane to join the road and on to the motorway.