Crunching through the leaves, I am content for a while.
Covid still reigns as the summer seeps into autumn and the trees let go their leaves, colouring the pavements brown, yellow, red. And the sky reflects the tarmac street, enclosing us in winter’s grey at dusk in a city suburb.
We – my son (a man grown) his sister and I – walk the streets, our new ‘going out’ in an increasingly alien world. Retreating from the on-coming people and indignant at their lacking compassion, I bump my man-son down the high curb in his grey/black wheelchair. He screeches his displeasure at the drop.
The people go on by; one smiling a thank you while the others, eyes averted, avoid our gaze. We walk on, listening for cars that might come up behind – and with the people safely distant, we reclaim our place upon the pavement and leaves.