I take a step.
I take another step.
And another.
I have just gotten out of bed and my ankles hurt straight away.
Is pain the only indicator that I am alive?
Dressed I step out the door,
A small step to the pavement.
Dark.
Always dark.
A hand to the wind,
The swinging of a door,
Greeted by the familiar silence of a miserable bus driver.
The sun swings over the water,
It greets me over the ANZAC bridge.
I take a step,
I take another step.
And another.
I turn around back to my wife and kiss her gently.
She smiles through her sleep.
Dressed I step out the door,
Two feet first I bound to the pavement,
Greeted by the darkness and a freezing winter breeze,
This is my street greeting me before any of my neighbours.
A hand to the wind,
A flash of light and a rush of warm air,
I greet the bus driver and this time the black dog is no where to be seen.
And he has not been back for quite a while.
