I picked pieces of my broken self yesterday, ran through forest park windy paths, listened as scars fell off, watched too as a brown and black furry creature crawled off, the earth as I ran thinking, knowing that all things work together, even things I cannot see together, all blasting in ears and head weary like a feather, drowning in a terrible fear, but basking in all the throbbing pain and reminder of how his ways are so beyond me, even now when my head hangs so low, trying hard to run through forests, which once fed my soul, everything still the same, the windy paths, the bridge at the end of the first mile, all these things remind me of all the ways he continues to conspire to do things for my own good. I picked pieces of myself yesterday. The park’s windy paths were a witness to the day. The sky’s gentle ray falling on my head, reminding me still that I belong here, moving through paths that know too, we belong here.