The Feel of the World

I have been sick and not excited about leaving the safe confines of my couch, wrapped in my unzipped sleeping bag, surrounded by a platoon of tissue boxes, a vapor rub jar, glasses and mugs with the residue of licorice tea and orange juice ringing their bottoms. It was a sudden thing, this sinus condition of mine, and although not the worst, bad enough that it knocked me off my feet for three days and has now taken up residence in my chest, where it likes to remind me of its presence with a pounding cough that hurts my ribs and the muscles of my back. Duncan and the cats have been kind and generous, camping out with me, manning their posts at various stations along my body, from my ankles all the way up to the crook made when my chin and chest almost meet.

It was only with some reluctance that Duncan and I ventured out today, our first walk since Sunday night when the sky seemed so beautiful, Orion lazing on his back as he dipped into the west, Venus long since gone and the sky awash with innumerable nameless points of light. The day looked colder than it actually felt, but I was hurried and hacking, still weak and not at all invigorated by Duncan's tug down the path. Still, once we settled into the spot on the edge of the lake where we can watch the ducks and listen to the geese mimic the occasional pounding of my lungs, I felt invigorated at the sight of him turning his face into the breeze, dry and cool, and only slightly French-fry-scented. He closed his eyes and smiled and for those few seconds I remembered what it was like to be well and to love the feel of the world around me.