I love to acknowledge that I can walk. Among other blessings, I like to know I can feel. 

Tapping along the stable pavement, hair strands in a tizzy trying to feel every inch of my serene face, hands resting gently at my sides, and I ease into a stroll... I mistake auburn 

leaves bouncing in the breeze for your footsteps to my left. I'm startled enough to lift my hand to my face, but I continue on, thinking on the world and on dreams as determined and able as the thick brow above your ever-seeing eyes. 

p i t t e r  p a t t e r  s k i t t e r  s k a t t e r, I'm dancing with your footsteps as I think of your hand leading me onward.  

I smile. The world around me - ever-swaying trees, crisp sun, everly clouds, small birds - is quite welcoming of this fancy. As you do, they encourage their participation within my stream of broken thoughts. But unlike them, you suggest that they are indeed not broken. They are simply notions in need of a nod, dreams awaiting assent.