Yes, to get from point A to point B.  From bed to bathroom to kitchen.

Yes, to pace while thinking or talking on the phone.  Drift to the window and look out, seeing nothing or something…

But more than that—to walk down the street, just walk for a few minutes, and the surprising distance that piles up behind!

Or go deep in the woods on a trail, around the bend, and get to that little valley, that little stream, and stare at moss and branches, the flow over rocks.

Soon I’ll rejoin all the regular people.  Connect again to rabbits and deer.  To everything that works properly—bacteria, supercomputers…

Wasn’t everyone grinding bone on bone and limping heavily?  You in your car at the light, isn’t your right leg damaged on the brake?  You in the crosswalk, aren’t you in pain?

I’ve never seen a limping deer, but they must exist, lying on their good side on flattened grass deep in the thicket.  It’s just getting worse.  The prognosis is not good…

I bonded with an arthritic dog, and that was a consolation.

But now I have things in common with the great walkers—the daredevils who cross whole countries, even continents, sometimes walking backwards!

I relate to the pilgrims, on the way to Compostela, through the Pyrenees and passing Tortosa.  The marchers, heroic protestors of past and present, nod to me.

I stayed connected through pain and limping and a walker and a urine bottle to my father, deceased.  Now as I do wooden laps, my self-image changes; I feel his exterior surrounding me.  I have gray hair, am wearing a yellow sweater; I’m unusually present to children I don’t have.  He/we put in our time, do our laps, get stronger, come back to ourselves.  And soon we’ll unveil a new suave simplicity—nothing to see here!