One day

I am not going to lie, the day I first started walking my dog in the mornings, I thought I was going to die.
Those first weeks in January and February were dark, cold and gruelling, to say the least. I would fall into bed in the evenings crying from the aches and the agony. One night I distinctly remember lying in bed and wondering why the end of my nose ached; my eye lids, my forehead, the tops of my feet, the end of my toes, what possible muscles had I exercised there? Not since my children were pram age had I walked so far, so regularly, and even then not at such pace, and not with the sole purpose of heading for the open country.
Many times we arrived at the park just as the sun was peeping, the grass white with wet and the trees stalwart shadows, the dog and me, the only owners of the acreage. Then I let Summer run free, for pure joy, for squirrels, field mice and interesting smells. After the hill, my breath comes more easily and I begin hearing from within me a laughter, then laughing out loud, at her slip and slide, at her head over paw roll-overs and death-defying somersaults. Laughter first thing in the morning, in the sun and the rain, laughing at the sheer joy of it all.
It reminds me I am only designed for one day, I am only created for  one day, and I only have grace and wisdom and love enough for today.
All these one days have sort of joined up and held hands and carried me off from where a I was, just as if I had jumped over the moon.