I’m almost done with my weeks of therapy and I can’t say I think it has done a lot of good. Same old pain. In fact, this morning, after I left therapy, I thought I had dislocated my hip. The pain lasted for most of the day and I could scarcely walk. So much for therapy !
That’s my latest whine. The best thing to do seems to be to distract myself somehow, which does more good than anything. When I am busy writing or playing, or visiting with friends, the pain goes to the back of my consciousness.
AUGUST IN THE PARK
the neighborhood wakes slowly
birds chirp undisturbed as seniors
stroll or sip their coffee,
yesterday’s heat forgotten.
pets walk happily here,
so close yet far from
the bustle of the downtown market
where dogs dodge crowds
in a confusion of legs streaming by.
here birdsongs are clearly heard
while the slightest of breezes
makes gnarled old trees
look askance at one another,
each unique although
standing for many years together
like neighbors who never left home.
after the rains the sage becomes
a proliferation of purple,
bursting out in a
joy of beauty,
ephemeral, and thus
like pleasures that come
once a lifetime.