carry on...

I sit in my bedroom, windows to the world opened wide- the sea breaze slinks through the slots and slides across my face. I recall a rainy night in April...a meal of eel and drinks on the boss. Fast forward roughly six months and I am somewhere along the up end of a journey through forests hospitals and broken bones. They're only bones...what could that mean in the great existential context of universal truths?
Deeper spiritual understanding be as it may, it turns out that full and physical (as opposed to metaphysical) use of my legs is something I don't intend on taking for granted again.