The morning fog is thick today
I don’t feel like walking up the hill
But I know I should
I force myself into shoes and sweatshirt
At the corner I have options
I can turn left up the hill
Or go straight and stay in the bottoms
It would be easier to stay but
I risk never getting out of the fog
It is one of those mornings
When two cups of black coffee don’t work
When yesterday is still unfinished
And the noise too loud
I am stuck like an old truck on a muddy road
My lungs hurt with the first cold breaths
Thighs ache as stiff muscles unwillingly yield
A sharp pain stabs at the outside of my knee
And my lower back begrudgingly consents
I wonder if the pain will go away this time
The fog becomes thinner
My fingertips slowly warm
Beads of perspiration collect on my forehead
The noise lessens and
My thoughts begin to wander
Gray Scrub Jays
Become raucous, royal blue Stellers
Aggressive brown squirrels
Replaced by timid silver-grays
And black-tail deer cross daintily in front of me
Homes are more expensive here
Neighbors don’t visit
They leave in the morning
And close their doors behind them in the evening
So it is a good place to walk
My mind breaks free from yesterday’s shackles
And to my delight begins to roam freely
Unfettered
My friend again
I pause on the crest to catch my breath
On the valley floor below
I see my home
It seems small and cozy
And safe
It calls me back
Marv Himmel© 17 April, 2014
Image by Ervin Gjata
This is great. My first thought is that age is only a state of mind. I imagine that all adults from 20-90 can relate to the effort it takes to loosen the bolts and lubricate the joints. Yet invariably the vitality comes through once the crank is turned. But the end so brilliantly illuminates the dichotomy between the impetuousness of youth and the call to comfort and reliability (read: wisdom) that accompanies age.
Thanks. Glad you like it. Some days the front door is just too heavy and others it swings wide open invitingly. Ever has it been.