I did it again today.
Laced my shoes up.
Stepped out into that Alabama countryside like i owed the road some money.
It’s cooler now.
About 40 degrees.
That kinda cold that bite hard, it don’t cuddle.
Just enough chill to wake your bones up and remind you they still got memory.
Rained last night.
Ground still soft.
Air heavy with yesterday.
And my knees ?
Yeah, they talking.
That’s when you hear your daddy.
And your granddaddy.
Old black men back then, sitting around talking about aches coming with the weather.
I used to laugh at that mess.
Ain’t laughing now.
I feel something shift when the cold rolls in.
Knees whisper.
Back hums low.
You catch yourself asking, “What the hell is that?”
Then you remember.
Sixty-plus years on this earth collecting rent.
Every season.
So you stop fighting it.
You accept it.
Ain’t no shame in feeling something.
That’s the price of still being here.
I keep moving.
Three miles down them country roads.
Fields wide open.
Trees standing like they seen some things.
You walk and think about the folks who can’t.
Friends.
Family.
People who’d give anything just to take a few good steps.
That humbles you quick.
This little walk?
Yeah, it’s “for your health,” they say.
But truth is, i don’t even know why you do it no more.
Been doing it so damn long it’s a habit.
Like breathing.
Like waking up.
Fresh air fills my lungs deep.
The good kind.
The kind you wish you could bottle up and hand out to everybody hurting.
Man… that air feel clean.
Real clean.
Let it settle in your chest.
Let it remind you you’re still alive.
Still moving.
Still here.
So you walk.
Because you can.
Because you should.
Because somewhere deep down, it feels like the right damn thing.
Now tell me—when was the last time you stepped outside and listened to what your body was trying to say?