I am not discerning any correspondence between the rhythm of my breathing to that of my stepping at this time — exhales to right steps over inhales to left steps — seem to me as incommensurable as the ratio of my steps to the sidewalk grooves.
Breathing to steps, steps to grooves, and then the rate of the cars passing me to the rate of the trees I pass. (Did I pass trees faster than cars passed me.)
I recall the other day I’d been running behind a woman with a ponytail slinging from side to side, and I’d wondered, did her pony tail shift to one side when her one foot struck and to the other when her other foot struck; or was it two to one; or was it too complex a ratio for a non-percussion expert to glean; so that one would require, for example, that gal from New Jersey you knew who actually played the tympanum professionally?
In the end, to my surprise, I found that when her pony tail swung left I stepped with my left, and when it swung right I stepped with my right, yet before long she had outpaced me. She was gone yet the rhythms she inspired continued.
Now I see a flattened Wendy’s cardboard wrapper, for fries or like side item. The nearest Wendy’s is about four tenths of a mile to my left and has a flickering sign.
.i`` * ^ / . . . . . ` `~ 