Corral

You wake to freezing temperatures and a wintry mix notification. Heavy clouds blanket the mountains, but at least they tempered the fire smog. The flowers seem to have survived. My to do list runs long, but morning is quiet, and you let it take its time, stretching under warm covers, breathing through your ambitions, letting everything settle in the great jigsaw that is your inner machinery. A large deer walks past your window. You are determined to look back on this year and see at least one precious gift it offered, drifts past your line of vision. I remember being broken, but it is far away now, only an abstract thought, a theory. I put myself back together and I am better than before, what a strange feeling. 

Sometimes we expect jagged edges to be sharp forever. 

But even mountains soften into hills, eventually.