Did I just groan, looking up that trail from the base of the hill?
Getting busy, I collect my energy and determination,
my old Marine Corps spirit.
Subdue resistance and misgivings.
Up I go, one foot in front of the other.
My feet are fine, in fact doing very well. Toes curl inside my
sneakers for a better grip as the trail steepens, fresh step
after step.
Reaching the crest at last, sitting on a stump, listening to my
heart thumping away.
It’s a good heart, served me well so far.
Probably came from my Mom.
Odd, eh? It pumps all that blood, especially now, down to my legs
and feet, and it comes back up, nice and pure and rosy.
At the same exact time, it pumps lots of blood up to my head and
my heavy grey brains. And that comes back with all sorts of
crap floating in it.
No wonder I’m so knocked out.
I had a friend once who loved feet. She loved my feet, adored them,
pampered and caressed them.
Even kneaded my toes all nice and pink.
She was very happy with my feet.
She was, on the other hand, disappointed and saddened by my head.