Dependent

Last bit of a beautiful afternoon, light breeze, sixty-nine degrees.  Cloudless blue sky.  Ili has gone to visit her parents, so I had the day to myself.  I made breakfast before she left, and she was on the road by eleven.  I went to the gym and walked an inclined treadmill and walked on a stair stepper machine.    I came home and showered and dressed and got my cameras and lenses together.  I was going to take advantage of the day.  I drove out to a stretch of highway that I thought might be promising.  When I got there, I drove into a market and parked the car.  I felt small and vulnerable as I pulled my cameras onto my shoulder.  I snapped a photo of a palm tree and began to walk.  The distance between things is greater at foot speed than at sixty.  Nothing was as interesting and it took me a long time to walk from thing to thing.  I moved slowly, my ribs hurting, but more just because I was slow.  In minutes, I was worn out.  What had I thought I was going to do?  I didn't have the moxie.

I struggled back to the car, twisted gingerly, slung the camera bag into the passenger seat with great effort, and pulled myself up into the seat.  Then I sat.  The day was beautiful, and I sat on a sad, ugly piece of road on my day off, tired, worn out, spent.

It was a sullen reminder of where I am physically right now.  I am not up to much.  Sitting around the house, I feel fine.  But the world. . . it is still too much.

The sun sinks lower in the sky.  The temperature drops.  Ili is not home.  I will be hungry soon, and I will want a drink.  I am as dependent as a child.

Perhaps soon. . . .