WARNING: story involves scab picking, read at your own discretion

I went sledding last week, after the East Coast got hit by a major snowstorm. According to experts here, early morning two days after the storm is the best time to sled; the snow on top melts slightly during the day, then freezes into ice at night. We went out at 8am the next morning, and the top layer was solid and slick. We trudged across a field to get to the hill, each step requiring excessive pressure to crack the ice and find solid contact with the ground beneath.

What I really want to write about (quickly before my laundry finishes — it’s a sunny day and I want to hang it out to dry before lunch) is the insight I got from the gash in my leg that I procured while sledding that day. So, gash in my leg from one particularly exciting and dramatic crash. Sled over head over legs and arms over her and him over me over sharp edges of cracked ice. My leg was on the bottom.

I ended up with my shin scratched fairly raw, and I did major herbal first aid once I got back to my room (calendula tincture and comfrey salve), and covered it with gauze. Over the past week and half I’ve watched it heal with amazement. Visible healing overnight! One day I was examining the strength of the scabs and scratched them off in two places. (I know “don’t pick at your scabs!”… but it’s irresistable) I took a bath last night and when I got out my other scabs had melted away, new smooth pink skin underneath… except where I had peeled the scabs off a few days ago. Still scabby and red. Of course. My body knows how to heal herself — I just have to allow it to happen.