The old ladies walk up and down
in the winter sun, making the circuit
over and over around the end
of this quiet cul-de-sac. But not
down the hill; that would mean
puffing back up, with pauses.
Each picks a time to go alone,
slightly self-conscious and/or
needing the breath for the exercise,
not conversation. I admit I feel
superior. The others push walkers.
Not so far gone, I lean on my stick.
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