Bit by bit

The surplus of love and joy in the heart of winter astounds, while the threads of doubt and fear melt in the pale morning sunlight. Again, it took having my teacher back to realize that maybe I’ve been holding back, just a touch, while he was gone. Those few millimeters that suddenly feel like miles of luscious elongation, where the instinct was to curl in and curve round, protect a little; that efforted-less openness and surrender, where they needed tending to, before. All coming back, as I prepare to go.