This morning I walked my usual route
around the neighborhood, uphill
and down, without once thinking

about the torn MCL. It’s a little shy
of a year since the injury, and I paid
no attention to where I placed

my foot, or the evenness
of my gait, or how my leg was
turned. I just walked, taking in

the sights and sounds and smells
of a humid pre-summer day
that promised to get downright

sticky and threatened a late-afternoon
convection shower, both of which
it eventually delivered.