A Spring Constitutional
by Abbie Johnson Taylor
In the early morning, a cold wind blows.
Weak sunlight from a hazy sky offers little warmth.
Despite the chill, I’m glad to be out walking.
I smell fresh new-mown grass and hear bird songs.
In the park, a workman mows the lawn.
There’s no one else in sight.
I walk by the creek, hear its gentle babble,
the neighing of horses from a nearby veterinary clinic.
I smell their manure.
My white cane rolls from side to side in front of me.
In the late afternoon, I traverse the same path,
relieved to be out in the fresh air.
I hear the cries of children from the nearby playground.
My stomach tells me I’m hungry.
I quicken my pace, eager to reach home.
***
The above was published in the spring issue of The Avocet. Another version of this poem appears in my collection, How to Build a Better Mousetrap: Recollections and Reflections of a Family Caregiver. You can click below to hear me read it.