How It GoesOn one hand, I find myself bereft of my walks. There is no shortage of walks to be had here, but the sort of thing that I'm missing are the comfortable routes which my feet know well. What I get instead are unfamiliar but still strangely reassuring routes that my feet used to know well, up the one-way street and back up around the top of the square and through the good coffee shop...except much has changed, and the distortions creep in. They are not malicious, just different.
I find I am missing things; I find I am missing the wooded paths. These sorts of situations end up becoming instructive. I should be able to see the trees again, for example.
In other ways, things are working out quite well. On one of the evening walks I passed a gentleman on the street; he nodded to me, and asked "how goes it?"
I stand a little straighter at that.
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