Holding On

Spring is eeking in as it does in that some sunny days/some rainy days sort of way.  Gentle crocuses are raising their heads, and daffodils, which always reassure me that the darkest days are past.  Mostly my hand and wrist hurts every day, though the muscles in my arm and the shoulder aren't so bad.  It is still hard to type or write or knit or even sit in one place.  Pain distracts me from full enjoyment of most things.  I'm trying not to get pulled down, but it is difficult.  I put on a bright face, but it is a little bit false.
Last night I had a dream that I was dying.  "Goodbye green earth," I thought.  My last thoughts. And then I stopped that dream as I dreamt it and went back to another thread, thinking to myself 'no, no--not that--I don't want to be dying.'
The sun passes through clouds and the shadows shift on the bed covers which lay rumpled in lazy folds.  It's a delicious sight.  The camilla is heavy with blooms outside the window.  The tree-like hydrangea, wrongly placed because I didn't realize it was that kind of hydrangea, is full of tiny green knots, promises of blossoms this year.  I awaken to bird song, the mockingbird, the cardinal.