I’m running on the lip of the ocean, between the lisp of the waves and the silence of the sand. My feet crunch over crusty shells and coral. I feel free, so free. I swing my arm, pumping hard with elation. …but I feel unbalanced. I lift my knees, lean into the breeze … yet I feel unbalanced.
I remember my days on the track flying between the white lines listening to the applause when I was our school’s champion short distance runner. My friends said I ran like a gazelle. But that was long ago before black blindness came and this is now and I feel unbalanced.
Suddnely I realize why. Only one arm pushes. Only one hand strokes the wind. My other hand is in my pocket keeping my arm still by my side.
For all the many years of blindness I’ve walked with a white cane or a sighted guide, holding my cane or holding onto an arm or hand. Both arms had forgotten how to work together while running and walking. I pluck my hand from my pocket and throw my arm out. I windmill my arms and skip with happiness at this realization. At last I’m in balance! I run and run on the lip of the ocean, between the lisp of the waves and the silence of the sand. My ears are in tune with the eb and flow of the waves. My heart speaks deep wishes for many more unencumbered runs on isolated beaches towards the laughter of my husband.