From An Attic Room in Oxford

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My favorite place in Oxford at the moment is the attic room we've rented.  I love the low slanted ceiling, the shaft of gray light through the narrow dormer window, and the cozy bed with its soft down comforter. I've been in this bed all day.

Sometimes your body tells you it's had enough. Mine screeched to a halt yesterday, and suddenly there was nothing left of me but shivers, aches, and weariness. I honestly couldn't get up this morning. I'm sick. And it's understandable. I've been pushing myself hard through a sad and stressful time.

The thing you have to guard against is the existential undertow. The poignant specifics are enough to make your heart ache, but it's the big unanswerable questions beneath the surface that pull you under.

And it's cold outside. Everything is more trouble when it's cold.

So I stayed in bed all day as the muted light shifted from whiteness to shadow, and I dozed and dreamed dreams that were torn bits of color, flapping in my head like prayer flags.