I did yoga today after a two week hiatus. It was if an old person had high-jacked my body and replaced it with something stiff and awkward. Not that I was supple before — I’ve never been flexible or athletic, but I had reached a point where I wasn’t falling out of the poses all the time. Not so today.

As I went through the set — cobra, downward facing dog, warrior one, triangle — I realized that grief had settled into my bones. By the end of the class I was crying.

It was only after I started doing yoga that I began to write again, after an eight year hiatus. Yoga has opened me in a way that’s hard to describe. I need to remember that yoga is physical prayer.