She navigates the world like any other.
A human slicing and dicing her way through a crowd greeting those she knows…
Smiling at some she doesn’t; weaving through traffic.
To a destination, onward.
Her hand reaches for a glass on the table, a spice on the shelf.
At night she watches the screen with her head cocked left.
Slicing and dicing her way through, someone waves far to her left.
She stares straight ahead. Someone catches her looking; but she’s not.
The wine glass topples; the dill weed tumbles.
A simple test. Spend a day with half a sense.
You will make it…muddle through. Awkwardly you will get where you are going.
Most likely you will “make do.”
Do it for days, weeks,…much longer and there will be a few “incidents.”
We are here with half a sense–
Half-mute, half-deaf, half-blind beings that have kurfluffles and accidents on life’s way.
Less than perfect…sometimes downright dangerous.
Limited as we are, and will always be despite discovery,
Our purpose is but to return.
Not by force, calculation;
Nor by cheap convenience or ease,
But on our own accord trusting.
Making our way, half-blind.