As I walk slowly, I pour my weight from one side of my body into the other, marveling at my balance. The ground grows hard against my soles in turn as each foot takes responsibility for my body, and I flow forward through the air. Moving a bit quicker on the driveway, almost at a normal pace, I feel my feet share the weight in a constantly shifting and adjusting agreement; I sway back and forth, travelling in space, and my legs work together to carry me where I want to go. Here in the front yard, the sun is shining like it’s thinking of spring.
The morning light is well-received by the fallen leaves, goldens everything it reaches, grows more assured. Winter is starting to recede, to turn away like a tired elder. These in between times, not really one season or another, full of uncertainty, shuffling, uneven ground, rot, and awkward sprouts shouldering up too early, are messy and seem the most real.
