Wednesday morning. 5:56 a.m. Temp, mid-70’s. Muggy.
484 consecutive days. Like in a Row. Morning walk at Daybreak @ Cove Island Park.
Now, do you see that ripple in the water, actually a number of ripples, in the bottom quarter of the photo? They’re the equivalent of Rainbow Smelt in Lake Superior. (I think.) 15 years living here, I’ve never noticed these schools of fish. And now, they’re seemingly everywhere. Water rippling, spinning, bubbling. My eyes darting left and right in search of other schools.
I can’t explain it.
They’ve become important.
Anuk Arudpragasam, from A Passage North: “Suddenly the small details that are glossed over in your usual accounting of life took on an almost cosmic significance, as though your fate could be determined by whether or not you remembered to draw water before it became dark, by whether you hurried to catch the bus or decided to take your time, by whether or not you said yes or no to any of the countless trivial decisions that come only in retrospect, once the event has occurred and nothing can be changed, to take on greater significance.”
Thursday Morning. I’m between calls. Susan shouts out asking for me to come down stairs. Hurry!
I come barreling down the stairs.
(Sciatica and all, this body can still move when it needs to.)
She’s sobbing. Good God. What happened? Continue reading “Walking. With Small Details.”
