Walking two blocks to meet a friend for a coffee and chat seems a mammoth undertaking a week since being admitted to hospital. My legs feel that they could fold yet they took no part in surgery. How can one or two neatly sewn cuts near my armpit stop me from striding out? General anesthetic? Drowsiness induced by pain relief tablets? Surgery? Three weeks ago we were setting out on the Tongariro Northern Circuit in New Zealand for five days carrying a pack. Now I’m glad to sit and rest a while near Dight’s Falls. I’m glad to be able to walk, glad to be outdoors waiting for a friend, glad the café is nearby and streets are quiet. Only another three blocks then a coffee and chat. My friend doesn’t mind my slow pace. I’m pleased to catch up with her, in a friendship sense though not catch up at her usual pace. At first surprised, she notices my concentration, a paleness of my face, a crumbling when I sit. She’s not certain that I should walk further. A risk I take mindfully. The path along the Yarra River yields plenty of opportunities to sit and gaze, rest and renew my sense of purpose. I’ll value seats on walking paths forever more.
