Around here, the hills are steep. Narrow roads and walkways twist and turn through unpredictable terrain. Our street abruptly ends at a cement wall and then starts again twenty feet above the same spot only to end half a block later at a cliff overlooking a tangled mess of freeways.
This can bring an element of adventure—and slight risk—to getting around. This morning really put it all into perspective. Woody and I rounded the last turn before the stairs to Bernal Park, when I heard a tapping sound on the pavement. Woody paused. The tapping got louder. We waited a moment as an elderly woman in a floral print dress came into view. She held a white cane and wore massive sunglasses. Woody lunged. I held tight on the leash and greeted her with a “good morning.”
“Good morning,” she replied, carefully stepping off the curb and making her way through the intersection.
My brain began to process the situation. Being blind in San Francisco and walking alone through one of the hilliest neighborhoods in the city takes skill. And guts. And practice.
I hope the blind lady found what she was looking for. We found a spectacular view. And for all I know, she did too.