After a weekend of cold dripping, I walked out to the front porch as I do to access the day. The temperature still showed the breath and the clouds were still draping the trees.
A quick breakfast of water and oranges, and changing my hooded sweatshirt from grey to orange for visual impact, I prepared for my morning ride. Visibility was reduced to a few feet but the path was the same as the sun began to burn off the mist.
The mind was still in a fog of the plumbers and rust and metal and boxes and wood and paper moved over the weekend. Anticipation of more work on basic elements of living and the economics involved kept my pedals churning.
I glanced at my odometer during a water break and it read “911”. My thoughts wondered the meaning, then I anticipated the number of trips to take before the end of the year to reach “1,000”, but this was not the sign.
So with plans to distribute the empty trashcans and attack the 13 steps, I suddenly felt my pace slow. “Uh oh!” Pulling over to the curb and checking the back tire I could see the wear and knew it was done.
A slow 3 block walk home, lunch, noon news refreshed me to walk in the sunshine to my local biking shop for a quick repair.
Back home and the exercise program continues with more boxes and wood. Piece by piece carried carefully down the 13 steps and carried out into piles for sorting, cutting and packing.
And in the fog, I found 6 black file cabinets. Opening a single drawing it was packed with papers. Letters? Notes? Drawings? I didn’t even look, just pushed the drawer back in for another day.