Foot Traffic

We are mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers, daughters and sons. We are accountants and writers, baristas and producers. But mostly ... we are two legs at the bottom of which are two feet.

That's what matters in the morning. That our feet propel us up the escalator and into the street, where we stride and sidestep, move from conveyance to office. 

Every morning there are slight deviations:  the blaring of a siren as a fire engine rushes past us on 18th Street, the sound of jackhammers as a building is demolished on Crystal Drive. We must wait at the corner, skirt around the window-washers. 

Some days we move quickly, there is a spring in our step. Other days we find ourselves dragging. But the movement is ineluctable. The current moves us ever onward, forward to our days.