A Favorite Pair of Words

Leaf Litter
by Heather McHugh

Things are not

unmoving (or else what

is ing there for?)

The things once-living

fall on the never-living

all the more movingly for the eye

that passes over them.

The wind wells up

to spill a trail

of onces off the nevers,

take opaque from eye

to mind, or near it —

every rocking takes some leaving

to a stonish spirit.

Mobility

"Aren't you the nature photographer?" he asked when I got out of the car.

"Yes! Dragonflies and damselflies!"

"We've met before," he said.

"I remember! Are you leaving?"

"Not yet," he said, grabbed some soft drinks from the back of his trunk, then headed through the gate toward the dam.

When I caught up some minutes later, I saw him and his wife, toast each other with their blue plastic cups.

"What are you toasting?" I asked when I was close enough.

"This is our mid-summer toast," she said, smiling. "A bit late, but this is our first visit this summer."

We chatted a while, reminding each other that we're all teachers (they've been retired about nine years), commenting on the beautiful afternoon, before I took off toward the odes.

An hour or so later, I followed them back through the gate.

They love wildflowers and always consult their guide to Tennessee ones, the same book I have on a shelf. They also read when the come, classics mostly, each a different book.

"So many Virginia meadow flowers this year!" he said

"Yes," I said, "but no cardinal flowers, thanks to the really big mow."

"Don't worry. They'll come back," he assured me.

"How long does the drive back home take?"

"About two hours or so," he said, "depending on the Chattanooga traffic."

"That's an awfully long way to come to read and see flowers!"

She said, "We love it here. Reminds us of Europe. There's something magic about Sewanee."

"Especially Lake Cheston. It's so peaceful and beautiful," he added. "We're headed to Green's View next."

"Just know that it's changed a bit," I warned them. "It might not be as accessible as it used to be."

"Oh," she said, "we always manage. As long as we can get there, we always manage. I'd never let this slow me down."

Afterwards, at the hospital, I thought about mobility -- hers, Boo's, and mine. 

I think it's time to stop complaining about my bad feet.

Another Movie Night, Missed

Still in the hospital, hearing worse than ever, my elderly friend recovers, slowly.

She hates the yellow-orange gown, but at least she can wear one of her bright slippers.

Sometimes, she's in a chair when I visit.

It's easier to focus on what's familiar instead of what's not.

If happiness is a warm puppy,

then waterproof hiking shoes that actually fit are bliss.

How lovely it is to be secure in my feet so I climb down a bank. walk along a mud bed, and watch Arrowhead Spiketails.

I owe many thanks to Clayton's Shoe Store, whose owner knows shoes and has infinite patience (these are pair number 5 I've tried).

Happy Feet (A Coming Attraction)

Thanks to a brilliant pedorthist in Nashville, my feet are on the way to happiness (for the first time in longer than I can remember). One 45-minute visit, one purchase of New Balance shoes (in a style and size I didn't know New Balance makes), and one hour-long walk promise great things to come.

Next? Orthotics at the end of the month.

Be still my bunions: soon you may be forgotten.