Stepping out

In June, I wrote about seeing a man with crutches gingerly making his way around the park by my house. His wife held onto his arm; his daughter was barely a footstep behind.

Click here to read what I wrote back then.

This morning as I finished my run on this glorious morning, I saw the man again. Yes, he still had crutches. But he held them more than used them for support; their rubber-tip ends hardly touched the sidewalk.

His wife wasn't with him; nor was his daughter. A younger man was by his side, a half-step or so behind him -- just in case the older man teetered a bit, or h'd wager, the older man teetered just a little, or lost his balance.

But I'm betting he won't do either. On such a delicious day, when sunlight streams through the not-yet-amber leaves and smoke rises from a chimney, more than autumn is in the air. I could also smell the unmistakable scent of hope.