She breathed in, and out.
The clock ticked severely behind her; a furnace rumbled unapologetically.
It was funny those moments when the sense of "being alive" hits a person. Claire was just sitting to do homework and planning when, delightfully (and somewhat inconveniently... she had things to do!) the sensation of, "Alive!" hit her like a large, playful wave on the beach that tackles.
Her hands tingled, blood pulsing through little veins. She looked at her palms, knowing older cells were rising to the surface, approaching death, while the alive ones dwelled beneath. She ran her fingernail across her palm and it REALLY tickled.
Claire examined her fingernails. She bothered to cut them and all, but she didn't normally take the time to look at them. Running her fingers on the outside, she felt ridges. She saw deep pink fading to pale. It was a very pretty color scheme, really, and she thought of pink peonies in summer.
She sat like a statue, feeling her shoulders; she didn't know whether they were tense or just doing what they ought to be. Or maybe it was gravity laying its hands down on her. She felt her heart move like what reminded her of a butterfly, lightly beating, and pictured a mason jar full of butterflies fluttering beneath her ribs.
She peered out the window at trees swaying in wind outside. Grass shook in the breeze as well. She could barely smell the outside, her face nearly pressed against the window and outside air escaping into the college dorm.
She sat with God for a while. No words; just sitting with Him. Kind of like when you can sit quietly and comfortably with someone on a porch swing, or walk side by side quietly on a wooded trail. You delighted in the company, so very evident, but without any words needing to be spoken. Yeah- kind of like that.
And then she leaped up, feet with springs in them-- went to the work table she had picked-- and began to do her work with a clear mind. About an hour later she went on to bed and slept fitfully.
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