So the finger that inadvertently made contact with the moving blade of the grinder has healed over. I have fingerprints on it and all.
I watched it heal slowly: the dark slow bubbling of blood, the gradual hardness of the outer parts, and like lava throbbing underneath the red in diminishing cracks. The body healed itself in its organic way, dividing cells and knitting itself patiently according to the former pattern until everything was restored.
It is such an unusual way of proceeding, the way of organic life. And yet it is what goes on all around us in uncountable small and patient processes which have been summoned by the Spirit of the Lord from time immemorial, ubiquitous as the blood of our physical being. It is like all the moss clinging to the bark of the trees now that it is warmer and wet. Thousands and thousands of little cells proceeding to live and flourish in the moment, and to change that way the hue and cast of the world.
And here is what I wonder about. I wonder how much coffee went into this new skin? A jolly good bit, I should think. What molecules of coffee ground on that fatal occasion found their way from the inside through the irrigation system and to the growing divided cell? There had to be a few.