I bruise easily. Too easily. Is it because my skin is so thin? I asked him yesterday, as we sat in the car at Rhayader, after I’d caught my wrist trying to put it through the strap of my rucksack. A big wheal of dark red was already building up under my skin. I don’t know, he said. My body takes on the black and blue blotches of an old woman. I wince before fall these days, or when I accidentally knock a limb or an elbow for I know that the evidence of it will be imprinted on my flesh for days, weeks to come. When did this happen? When did youth pass? I don’t mind. Truly. It is nothing compared to what so many suffer. A small thing, like my sore-ly knee. I continue. That’s all any of us can do. Continue till we no longer have to. The fruition of God. Ah, how lovely that sounds.
