still morning

I have to be still.
I cannot move, or if I have to move it is to struggle through my leg break crutch manoeuvres. Each step is purposeful: six clicks to the window chair, eleven clicks to the kitchen, twenty-two clicks to the bathroom, three hundred and forty around the block.
Then I am still again. The deep ache in my leg throbs the moment. So I sit, all the everyday wonders of the day exhaustingly distant yet right there. To take a step is to struggle. The weight of walking, click by click, to put the kettle on or have a look out my window makes these movements almost ceremonial.
But I am learning to sit still and be with myself, anchored there as I am by my healing bone with its titanium metal pin. Pinning me to the spot. Making me stop and see. A mindfulness of healing.

This morning on my sofa I awoke to the blue sky illuminating my chair. There I will sit, like a king on his throne, breathing in my domain. Going nowhere but here. Slowly realising that there was no other place to go all this time.