I awake. I'm warm, comfortable, snug, the cat nestled in the crook of my left leg.
Dreams, already memories, are drifting in and out of my consciousness - hazy and incomplete.
But then the real memories return: the words, the shame, the guilt. Frustration most of all - I'm her mum! I should be able to fix this. Why can't I fix this?
Breathe.
I breakfast, not really tasting.
The murmers inside my brain continue - won't be shaken - no logic can shift them. I need a walk.
I step out into the morning mist.
A sharp intake of breath cold on my lungs, a welcome release from thought.
The path up is hard, exactly what I need.
Breathe - in two, hold for two, out two.
At the top, a pause for breath.
It's going to rain. For a moment I am hypnotised by the sheet of rain moving along the valley, distant yet, but on its way.
I turn to follow the now familiar path.
Breath steadier, mind already calmer, I focus my mind on nature, on birdsong and the gurgle of water.
Breathe - in three, hold for three, out three.
A flock approaching, wary.
I stop, the sheep pass holding their nerve. I look back and their heads are held high - mine too.
Further on a calf nuzzles. The cow sleeps and the bull snorts his disapproval. Family dynamics for all to see. No shame, no guilt.
I pause at the bench and sit, looking out over the lake. A comorant swoops and dives. The heron, like a statue at the edge - on guard.
The mist lifts revealing a fox on the edge of the woods, frozen in time. I close my eyes and count to ten. He's gone - was he ever there?
Breathe - in four, hold for four, out four.
Downhill now, dodging mud and puddles.
The last of the summer's blackberries sweet on my tongue.
The birdwatcher rounds the corner and we chat - a pipit and a skylark so far this morning; I tell him about the comorant.
The rain arrives - I knew it would - washing away the words, the shame, the guilt.
We are just people. I am doing my best. She is doing her best.
Breathe.
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