About
once a week while driving to work I see a couple out for a morning
stroll. This morning was a cool September day after a stretch of much
too hot and humid ones. The street where I see them in North Oakland
is tree-lined and leaves cover the sidewalk. I never get a very good
look at them. Since I’m driving it is almost always from behind,
then a sideways glance as I go past, followed by a quick vision in my
mirror, then I go about my day. As a result it’s difficult for me
to get a handle on them.
He is
tall and very thin, with very long white hair. He has some sort of
physical disability. His hips seem to lean to one side and he limps
along with very short steps. The hair and physique makes me think he
is older than I am but that may not be true. The woman with him looks
younger. She may be his wife, or his daughter, or simply a friend.
She may be a physical therapist who comes once a week to help him
out. She holds onto his arm, lightly as they move.
And move
they do. What strikes me most about this is how quickly they seem to
be moving. Short, shuffling steps, but fast, churning up the autumn leaves. Whatever difficulty he
may have, it’s obvious he is going somewhere, even if it’s just
the end of the block. Perhaps I’m reading into it, given that I see
such a brief moment of their day, but I always feel a sense of the
joy of simply being in motion.
