I drove my customary route to work yesterday, albeit an hour late.  Along the east side of Broadway, the usual morning retirees strolled up the path near the fountain.  At the red light, I watched an overweight woman struggle to stay upright on a city bike.  She surrendered, jumping to the sidewalk.  As I moved through the intersection, she parked her bike in the docking station and continued down the street on foot.

Joggers flanked the mothers with their strollers.  At ten o’clock the heat index had already skyrocketed.  I saw a woman with her baby strapped to her chest.  She lifted her knees higher than the lithe young man at her side.  I drove by, silently nodding, thinking, Never could I have done that.  Way to go Lady.

Before the strip of park ended, I spied a homeless person with his cart of belongings.  He lifted a jug of water to his mouth.  Despite the fog of summer settling around him, he wore the weight of many jackets on his shoulders.  Even with that shroud he seemed insubstantial, barely holding any flesh on his bones.  He trudged towards the Cancer Survivor’s Memorial, pausing to let a pair of old folks  holding hands skirt around him.

I made the turn north of my building to circle round and park in front of the office, squeezing the Prius in between a tan Mercury and a Land Rover.  Its silent motor fell into deeper stillness as I pushed the power button.  I sat motionless for a few minutes, listening to the ringing in my ears.  I had been awake since six a.m. and had not yet used my voice.  My eyes fell closed.  I let the dullness of the roar inside my head overtake me.  The luxury of a long holiday slipped away.  My week would begin as soon as I opened the door.  I gathered my strength before reaching for the handle.  As I swung my feet onto the asphalt, a bird rose from the sidewalk and soared into the blueness of the summer sky.

Today my voice seems less rusty, more available.  I pad around the house, grateful that it’s the middle of the week.  I’m getting by.  It’s the sixth day of the thirty-first month of My [Never-Ending] Year Without Complaining.  Life continues.

This early-morning, wild-hair selfie goes out to my friends Genevieve, Penny, and Rebecca. They know why.