Inside, outside

Woodlands, 53 km. In deep sorrow, people seem to reach deep down inside to look for strength. They may say little, perhaps even stay indoors. It's as if, to avoid going out of their minds, they keep it all in. Or maybe it takes a lot to take in what has happened, when the world outside is shaken down and washed away, leaving only the detritus of what was, and a mucky brown smelly world. In the physical world, the hurt lie still, saving energy to rebuild within. I guess it's the same in the emotional world.
In my little world where I can do something, I've washed away the dirt that has encrusted my bicycle for ... wow, I can't recall when was the last time I washed and waxed it. But there's a crank-side squeak that's driving me round the bend. Still, contrary to the weather report, it didn't rain on me today.