KAT
Market Day Redux
The Lexington Farmers Market sprawls beneath gunmetal October clouds while I navigate the Saturday morning crowds from my wheelchair, Dave's hands warm on the handles. Two and a half weeks until these boys make their entrance, and my ankles have transcended mere swelling into abstract art installations that vaguely suggest feet once existed there.
"I can walk." The protest emerges from habit rather than conviction, since standing for more than five minutes makes the world tilt sideways.
"Not happening, empress." His thumb traces absent circles on my shoulder, blessing-heat penetrating wool sweater. "Dr. Rivera said limited activity. Besides, I like taking care of you."
The market pavilion thrums with that particular Saturday energy—vendors hawking everything from
