I slept in late today, until almost 9. And when I looked out the back door from the kitchen, wolfie was looking in with pitifully patient eyes. I promptly took her for an hour long walk...down the alley, past the church, through the park, along the trail, and then to the lake. We walked along the water for quite a ways before turning home, taking a slightly altered version of the same path. It felt good to be in my own skin.
On the way back we passed the old folks' home--an apartment building for partial care residence. Now that it's warmed up, they've been sitting outside a lot lately. There are two benches facing each other outside the entrance and, often, they sit in a row with arms and legs touching--they could spread out, but seem to prefer the tangible feeling of companionship. They wave when I walk by with Anu, or when V. and I are on our bikes. So thirsty for life--they wave and smile and wave. And this is when I become aware of my own strong legs beneath me, carrying me easily wherever I want to go. I look up towards the windows of their apartments--they are open and, for some reason, make me think of hummingbirds. There are thermometers stuck with little suction cups to the glass and, here and there, a brightly colored silk flower sticking out from a vase on the sill. There are ruffled curtains pulled back as far as they can go--and, somehow, the sunshine seems to come out of the windows, in just the same way that it goes in.
While the people on the bench try desperately to slow down time, to soak up every last bit of happiness, I see them seeing me...remembering themselves...when they could move as fast, as easily. And, for all their "oldness," they are absolutely alive. The wings of their minds and hearts beating in hyperspeed, like little hummingbirds, their feathers shining in the sunshine. I think they would make good friends--because, for them, there is no such thing as tomorrow.