The bunny is staying far from that tree limb. It has the right idea.
I look at the ground when I walk, not really what you’re supposed to do. Bad posture, alignment, and all that. But I don’t care.
During the summer, I made the mistake of looking up, away from where I was stepping (I can’t recall why), and didn’t see a stick about three inches long, and an inch in diameter, directly in my path. As my foot landed on it, the stick rolled, my ankle turned, and I wound up crashing to the pavement. As I lay there, trying to recover my senses, I spied the offending object, cursed, and vowed to smash it to pulp.
No one in the ER, nor anyone else who has since heard my story, was in the least bit surprised by the cause of my injuries. A few even nodded, saying, “I’ve done that.” They know all too well, it’s the little sticks or stones that get you, the ones that blend into the pavement, lurking, waiting.
Months later, the memory of losing control, tumbling, hitting the ground is still fresh. I suppose some people would get over such a thing easily. Fortune was with me that day, ptui, ptui, ptui (yes Grandma, I’m still spitting), nothing broke. A few weeks later, all the pain was gone, the abrasions mostly healed, the bruises mostly faded. Some people would simply carry on.
But me? I’m ever more mindful of all the small things that can trip a person.
So, I look down when I walk. And if I see a stick, or stone, I pick it up.
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