Street Walking

I realize I have been holding my breath, but I have not been swimming.
There have been many toss-and-turn nights when I awaken for no particular reason, and am instantly wide awake and have to spend the rest of the night trying to coax sleep, usually unsuccessfully. I have been through the tubes that zap me with their miracle pictures of my internal organs; they are still there, intact. I have blood let once more, and all is within normal range. I have had my neurological tests, and yes, I am still on my feet despite their soreness; I am still able to see, walk, and most of the time, keep my balance despite the humidity. There are a few tests left, like the yearly mammogram and the bone density exam. I am alive. I realize I have been holding my breath, but I have not been swimming, just moving with my head down.

An up north friend gave me a call last night, and today I met her and her relatives down on Avenue A, and we laughed and talked over a pitcher of sangria. We walked through the giddiness on our way downtown, into SoHo, to Chinatown, and to Cha Chas in Little Italy where the leaves spiraled down from the birch and ginkgo trees as we sipped our hot beverages and shared our Italian desert. Onward we forged, down Canal looking for who knows what, as the sidewalks could not contain all the humanity looking for bargains as if there were anything there of value that was not, and the moon came out and the light faded. It’s getting dark early now, and soon Daylight Savings Time is going back to wherever it came from last spring. And an up north friend gave me a call last night, and today I realized I am no longer holding my breath. I found it somewhere between Avenue A and the C train coming home.