Dear Universe, I’m learning to walk again.

Baby booties. Crawling. Supple shoes. Hard shoes. One foot in front of the other. Sneakers. Hard surfaces. Stiletto’s. Going. Stepping. Walking. Running. Grass. Sidewalk. Down the hill. Up the hill. Walking to school. To your neighbors house. Visiting your friend across the street. Skipping to your friend’s house three blocks away. Traipsing to the market to buy a gallon of milk. Sauntering down the aisle at graduation. Walking to buy your first car. Crossing the threshold of your new home. Strolling in the sunlight. Dancing in the rain. Reaching a road. Split. Dropping to your knees. Confusion. Which path. Sitting there. Stopped. Frustration. Fatigue. Rising moon. Remove your shoes. Temperature drops. The sun yawns. The day warms. The road is there. Solid. Calling. Choose. Choose. Choose. You put your shoes on. You stand up. Tall. The sun burns. Bright and blind. Which road to choose. A new beginning. The road lined with trees. Luscious. The road deserted. Desolate, open. Blank. You take a step. Then another. One foot in front of the other.