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The sun was low, the air was fresh and the pavements were well trod. Just the way Morrie liked it.
He was determined not to succumb to any black dog, not to pay unnecessary heed. Adapt to things that eased his progress, but keep down all unnecessary barriers. The only barrier he would acknowledge was the simple pine box. But that would be then, this is here, this is now.
He paused, bent over and redid the fraying shoe-lace on his runners, with just a hint of a smirk about the irony contained in a simple noun. A sugar ant scurried across the cracked pavement, just one of many in a quavering row. Leaning against the lamp post, he turned to the morning sun. It glinted off the ebb-tide, gently rocking the moored vessels.
The air was laden with a tangy salt. Morrie breathed deeply. He was finally at ease.
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