Her only sight, a red tipped stick.
That ticks with order,
click...
click...
click...
She fends my questions with a smile
"I miss colors like fish miss the clouds"
This is true...
The clicks become muffled thumps and softened pats
As we offroad past the Fort Hunter bridge
"Do you smell the sage plants from Mrs. Tiller yard?"
"We just passed lock 17."
The sun's last rays sprint to meet us
zig zagging through the trees,
and the Adirondacks.
She fends my worries with a smile
"You'll be alright,
the blind don't fear the night."
And this was true...
In total darkness
My grip squeezed the blood out of her hands
when I occasionally stubbed my toe on maple tree roots
But she catches me in stride
while continuing the tour
"This is Freemont's hill,
where I rode my sled as a little girl"
"And here is where grandpa used to fish"
"You can learn a lot from your old grandma"
And this I knew...