pinning the landscape down

As I slowly brought my weight onto my healing bone I got an itch. An itch on my cheek. My arms were crutch sheathed. The itched pin pricked a very specific part of my right cheek. Yet I did nothing and let it itch. It was amazing the way the landscape of my face opened out and orientated itself around the tiny itch. I let it buzz there, I breathed it out. Each step I took was a step around the itch miniscule and demanding on my cheek. It showered my steps with awareness, it was absolutely there and suddenly so was everything else in the room. A Catherine Wheel pin-spinning sparks, showering me with the bright fire of moments: a step then another step, then another.

I went out today. First a solo shopping trip then a seaside sojourn to the landscape I love, landscape that scratches an itch of dissatisfaction.
As I move, clicking methodically hither and yon I feel my ambulations through my bone, through the pin centre sunk in my bone. These simple steps outside enter me upwards. Up comes the weight of a step taken, and it is sometimes sore sometimes thrilling in the blood effervescent through the healing bone and sinew and cartilage and muscle and sinew and marrow; tingling up through my thigh to my head trying not to get too fizzy with it. I try to keep straight ahead though every step is a pin placed in the moment, a pin about to be placed in the next moment. It is such an aching, fragile and euphoric way to traverse familiarity.
*
Alone these days more than ever, just me and my metal and bone. Something is breaking from the broken. This carapace of smart arsed words and held breath have kept the world away from me all these years. I've finally pinned it down and can see the way it prevents me from moving through the landscape of my life the way I want to. I feel the itch of the clever words, the ache of the turning away and I leave them unscratched and unrubbed. The shell is breaking and through the cracks comes the familiar sights I love. The familiar sights I want to share, and all I want to say is that I saw these and I loved these. Here they are. Here I am.