My loss of balance has required me to use the wheeled walker for a period of time. I had fallen on the road when my center of gravity took it's opportunity to shift substantially to the right of center and I have no righting reflex. I injured my hip and chest wall. The passersby in Chemainus rushed to my aid. The nurses in my life say I am a high falling risk. I have no longer the control displayed by the broken field, running halfback to shift, twist, tilt and recover through a maze of defenders. Joan drove me to the market and took my walker out and I went off with it to the liquor store. On my way back, approaching me from the opposite direction was a grizzled oldster I had never seen before on a somewhat rickety walker. We stopped to talk. Maybe commune. I had a sense in the air of the Brethren. There was nothing more than a familial salute but the silent expression of understanding was tangible. Maybe he will be sitting having a coffee and a smoke at the sidewalk cafe and I will find myself sitting next to him and we will talk about broken field running in football or sliding safely into home plate or dipsidoodling through two tough defencemen and scoring a goal. I think that's something similar state Brethren might do.
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