Synchronicities

When the pain that shoots down
from her right hip to her leg returns,
she wonders if it has something to do
with air pressure, or the rain, or
the humidity and all the recent swings
in weather. Where did she read 
that the body is its own barometer,
also its most faithful timekeeper? 
Coming from the store, she hefts
the grocery bags like they are 
weights at the gym; she pins
her shoulders back, as she is always
reminded to do. She tries to walk
more, move more, push and lift
while trying to find that center.
The dark fades later every day,
but she knows it is only being true
to its own season. She likes 
the quiet more and more. How 
much time is there for feeding 
the senses with remaining pleasure,
for soothing the heart's agitations?
The rain starts up again. She hears
a newly clear pinging just because 
the gutters were cleaned that weekend.