Sometimes you feel your pulse in strange places.
Like now.
Sometimes you feel your pulse in strange places. Like now. It pounds in the crook between my thigh and calf, under a fleece blanket. It pounds and I squint into a slantwise autumnal sun. The blue and white dog next to me cradles one paw inside a sock, taped shut for undisturbed healing. It’s a strange thing. The heart. Paws. The sun. All of it, felt…
