I look out the window at the street below. Mostly cars, but an occasional pedestrian too, pass by beneath me. They are free. Free to see the lake. To walk with their children. To run four miles through their neighborhood, as they have done many times before. If they need milk, they get it. Or go to Caribou Coffee to meet a friend. So many years stretch out before me. Still, some day my body will be a trap, not a tool or a joy. I rise and join the street life. Reveling in the freedom.
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