Day Four, Thursday, July 13, 2017
Walking in the morning is too hard. My feet ache from all the walking the day before, my leg muscles are stiff and weak from sleeping all night. The morning humidity is difficult to breathe as if the moisture is displacing all the oxygen.
Time oppresses this morning. I can feel the burden of centuries in the teetering live oaks growing out of the sidewalks – their ancient roots beginning to slip and rise, pushing the bricks and slabs of concrete up and aside like they are packing peanuts.
I have seen these trees lying on their sides after a violent storm. Enormous root ball exposed to the air – an obscene display of the oak’s private parts.
How many storms, named and ancient anonymous, have these giant trees endured.
Some of them… I don’t think they will make it through the next one.
I have been through too many storms – some quiet, some loud, and they have left be bent. How many more do I have left?
Not too many, maybe not enough.