Small miracles

I stepped out of the shower the other day and looked down at my footprint on the rug. It made me think.

Nature took my hair. It took my vision. It took my 32-inch waist. It bestowed on me ailments requiring an arsenal of pills in quantities akin to bullets on Pancho Villa’s bandolier. But it let me keep my high, aristocratic arches.

I’m grateful for that.

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