it still smelled like bergamot, part one

The receptionist didn't recognize me. My hair is considerably longer now; my time away longer still. My naturopath met me in the hallway, and I yielded to a hug, steps away from the marks on the wall, tracking my kids' growth.

I came in for Bowen Therapy, to hasten my recovery from my neck injury and hopefully, to get some relief from arthritis. I had forgotten how inviting her office is; the tiny painting she had picked up at Goodwill. Her kindness.

She covered me in warm blankets and worked on my back, around my collar. She told me tidbits about her daughter, and then she would leave the room - typical in Bowen - like a Zen master, metering out parables.

I looked out the window, through the shades at the stark winter trees, already feeling some pain relief.

Why had I waited so long to try this path again?