whenever i think of for some reason not being able to walk i think of him, and if i could no longer walk him i would still have to arrange to be with him, even just an hour sitting down in the basement room. 
today we managed our two walks, but they were short ones. the arctic wind was ferocious, and salt was stinging his feet and he was walking on the side and couldn't tell where the curb was and at one point he stopped and looked at me, isn't it enough? you're fragile, i'm fragile, we're old, and the wind is blowing us backward. come on, dug, home. and he picks up his pace leading me, and i have to say wait mister, i can't walk so fast. and then he hugs my side. at home i say but mister, we didn't get any photographs, can we? and we go to the front where the snow is fresh and thick and resting on the evergreens, and he poses for me. 

i thought, what if i'm becoming a walker who can't walk. everything depends on my feet. if i could go to a mountain spa that's where i'd be. if only i could stop and rest, maybe i could take care of this invasion and my skin could heal. but i have to walk, at least mister, we can't go to a mountain spa, that's just a dream.
we watched that documentary on fyre, where thousands of rich kids go to a deserted island in the caribbean ocean filled with music and supermodels only to find flooded tents on a halted development site, no music, and no models in bikinis. it was only a costly dream, and they could have dreamed it better for free. 
i may have trouble with my skin, and extremely fragile feet, but i know how to dream free.