032/365 09/22/2025

There were times Wilford Maines didn’t want to get up. Cock crowed, faint light coming in through the thin curtain he’d hung in the one-room cabin, and his whole being would say, “Wilford, you don’t gotta move. You can just lay here on the cot and take your breath and you ain’t gotta do nothin.” He’d lay and stare at the ceiling and say to himself, “Ok. Ok, ok, ok.” Then with some effort and not a little noise, he’d swing his legs over the cot side and plant his aching feet on the warped floorboards. That was step one.