Picked up my sharp little scissors to cut a thread on a sewing creation and neatly snipped a quarter-inch cut into my thumb. Stared at it in startle as the white line turned to red. Stared at the blood. And had the most incredible sense of being a part of the mother who sorrows each month that the showing of blood means a child has not been started. A part of a soldier, wounded, bloody. A part of someone who self wounds. A sports injury and a nose pouring blood. A surgeon and a scalpel and an entry into a body. J Alfred Prufrock…… And returned to simply being a lady who had been a bit careless with scissors as the body plugged the flow and I got on with my sewing.