March 27, 2012

Liquor Store Walk

Liquor store walk! A big letter "C": two blocks over, eight blocks up, and two over again.
     Today I reached across a chain-link fence and pulled a newly-opened wisteria to my face. No smell. Later, balanced on a slender branch that seemed to have no source, a single fist of lilac punched through the underbrush of a neglected yard. The encounter was like a sudden meeting between old friends, as I stooped to inhale the distillation, cupping the blossom in both my hands as my mother did my face.
     Advancing up the street, past the little front lawns like vernal bath mats, the boxy side porches with their out of season chairs huddled together for warmth, everything in its right place but more sharp-edged in the cooler, fresher air of this last March week, my body unfolded in the walk like a swimmer's legs and arms open to caress the sea.
     Warming up, my muscles slowly reclaimed my wounded mind, subsumed it—lovingly, as a mother puts a bowl of soup down in front of a young son—restored order among the sensations, a hierarchy of personal survival. A temporary end to pain.
     A cheerful walk.