It was fine to walk out the back door and wander. I remembered a physical therapist telling me, as she worked on my back, "You're a goal-directed person, aren't you?" as if that were not such a good thing. When I think of word "goal," I see a football fly between the posts or a ball hit the net. Without a goal, I went up to Hills Pond and let my eye latch on for a moment to whatever gave me pleasure, like these cattails, intricate, fading, lush.