ABSTRACT
The site with the scars had been healing; he could feel it transitioning its grip, both on the surface and deeper down, where muscles seemed to clench and then relax in new and unannounced ways, giving depth to the whole. He had begun a fresh set of rotations, moving his left leg in slow circles, tracing them out on the floor below him, every time he stood. And when seated or lying down, legs extended below him, he would slowly, carefully twist them out, knees pointing to alternate sides, holding them there, then twist them back in, far as he could. Even such small-scale ranges of motion seemed to open the flow, freeing the blood to move as it should, working the skin just enough to let him know it was there.
