The morning is easy, a comfortable transition of puttering and planning, too much rain for a walk but just the right amount for wistful wanderings, you find the work made light and try to remember why it was such a struggle before. It turns out a house in ruins was not your inevitable state, turns out a mind in shambles was not a sign of your own failings, you feel like the devil tricked you again even when you were supposed to know better.
But the point is, none of the shambles matter once you are out of the woods. None of the smoking ruins, the scorched earth, the years lost to darkness. The point is, the joke's on the devil, because while he remains singed in the canopy, you've found the path again, and you
are walking away.
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