Out Of Joint

The beautiful articulation of my bones enables me to move, to flex, to wrap myself around terrain and pour myself over it. My joints give me the ability to change the direction of an impulse, to shift my mass, to display a kind of heterodoxy of movement. My skeleton is a defining factor, endo over exo, mobile over static, higher animal over barnacle or tree.

And on a cold wet morning, sometimes I'd rather be a tree. I have just come to realise that the bearings of my joints are not forever. The knowledge has always been there, especially since the time I tore the ligaments in my shoulder. But realisation, the event of something becoming real, is a different matter. I ache on such mornings. My joints are the main culprits. And being articulate is sometimes more of a curse than one might ever have imagined.