Looking. Down.

Senior Chronicle: March 2024

I don’t know about you, but one of the things I notice most about the aging process is the pacing.

I’m not complaining, mind you, but everything’s slower. Minutes and hours are slower, and that’s  okay, I’m in no hurry. Days are slower, which is fine because—even though I’m doing fewer things—it takes more time to get things done. My thoughts are slower. I ponder more. Or wonder. Or simply consider.

My steps are slower, too—I know, because it’s taking me longer to walk to the chicken coop to say good morning and good night to the Girls. It’s 50 yards out there and 50 yards back, which makes it 100 yards round trip, or the length of a football field. Wikipedia helpfully tells me that adults normally cruise along at the speed of  3.1 mph or 4.6 feet per second. The timer and calculator on my smart phone (whatever would we do without this thingy?) tell me that—with the help of my sturdy cane—I’m making this trip at the rate of not quite 2 feet per second, less than half the speed the rest of the world travels.

And as I move slower and slower, I seem to look up and out less and less. The path knows where I’m going and only goes there, so all I have to do is follow it—no need to look ahead to make sure it’s not taking me over a cliff. Plus, I’m stooped, like my mother at my age, so its easier to look down. What’s more, I’m not especially anxious to test the strength of my 84-year-old bones in a fall, so I watch where I put my feet.

And I’m seeing some remarkably interesting sights.

Down there. Around my feet.

Take this morning, for example. I’m on my way to the chicken coop . . .