Walking

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    I wanted to walk. I’m a city child, I can’t help it. I wore my green flannel and my New Balance sneakers. They’re old, but comfy and cool. I looked like one of those messenger bikers you’d see in NYC, zooming down Broadway on their skinny tired cycles. Except I was walking and in the countryside. Wrinkled faces under tattered baseball caps stared quizzically at me from behind the dirty windows of their pickup trucks. But traveling by foot felt good. Even though the winding, wooden-wheel dented roads weren’t built to be trotted on by feet, I make the four mile trek into town.
    Our septic tank pipe was crushed by a tree root, so we can’t use the toilets or showers. I wanted to get out of the house. So I hiked to my dad’s office for the day to do school.

    Like the week when Hurricane Sandy shut down lower Manhattan or like when my family worked to survive on our various camping escapades, I remind myself that these are the times when our tempers are tried and our adaptability is tested. God sometimes shakes things up so that you have to walk in a different direction.

Veronica A.

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