Winnie and I take our daily walk. Nothing too exciting,
passing the usual dogs, sniffing the familiar trees. Disinterest.
Until it arrives, fresh.
She lifts her head into the wind. Ears dance, tapping the back of her skull.
A black, moist nose, like a compass,
always points to meet the incoming rushing air.
Her eyes, suddenly clear and squint with joy,
imagining a younger version of herself bolting across a field.
Her body a vision of power,
legs stretching and whipping back together with such speed they blur.
Her nose a moving beacon in bowing waves of wild grasses.
before the arthritis disfigured her young, pliant hips into stiff crackling disappointments.
I stand quietly, a guilty observer in her moment of remembrance.
Her thoughts are so dense they grip my skin:
My body was a wonder once. I was fast. I was wild. I was grace.