Transience.

I took my friend's mother to the hospital yesterday for chemotherapy. It was a perfect day. Mild and autumnal. She said that she hadn't been outdoors in weeks, how strange it felt. I could see that every little movement hurt. I can't imagine what it must be like: not to be able to climb a step, not to be able to stand up and rush off somewhere. Well-used phrases came to mind - being a shadow of your former self.

Today my throat is tight when I think of her world, but there is intensity in things: every sip of coffee, the smell of the mango I ate for breakfast, a walk to the post office to pick up a parcel of books, wonderful books. And much of what bothered me before seems insignificant.