I am made out of sludge, or at least it feels like that. I had an appointment to get my teeth cleaned tomorrow and I cancelled. The temperatures are going to be frigid and frankly, I am not quite up to par.

I look within and talk to my own heart. I confess my weakness and worry that my voice will not come back like it was. It has been weeks since I had the virus and I am still quite hoarse.

I should be busy with a number of things, I tell my heart, but all I want to do is sit and fret about myself.

The silence surrounds me. Inertia prevails. Sitting seems to be inevitable.

All the adages are pointless as I am brought straight up against the iron wall of what is.

I sit.

The heart knows exactly what is in store for me. I must wait on it and table all the motions made by my mind.

My mind, with its silly lists and listlessness, has been kayoed by my heart.

The silence of the heart wins every time.

Vicki Woodyard