Before I could afford a car, I walked as fast as I could those mornings I was late for work. I jumped over the cracks in Carnegie Park’s sidewalk, letting my eye catch the echo of sun against lone blue spruce.
Before I owned a cell phone, my afternoons resonated with natural silence, with only the crack of frog and cricket against ear. Before I bought a computer, my hands knew how to hold a pen, how to round my letters with legible panache. Today, my body forgets the simple, the sane.