Not that I was really injured, just a little stunned.

The clackety contact of kneecaps to concrete, not much cushion between my frame of skeleton and tissue and the slime of a silty mud slick. There I was, a forty-year old woman, legs, hip, elbows and hands (no face, thankfully) bowed down (taken down) in the dark of the muddy driveway near my car.

I’d survived umpteen schleps of boxes up wet stairs that afternoon. The Bohemian had navigated a rusty ladder, balanced a rain gutter with one hand and my incessant “be careful’s” below. It was evening and we were done with our moving chores for the day.

Seeking deeper meaning, some of the Woo Woo ilk may inquire, “What were you thinking about when you fell?” (well, ok, my husband actually asked me this – he’s sort of a Woo-Woo-with-a-toolbox kind of guy).

What was I thinking?

I knew it was slippery at the driver’s door of my car and I was thinking, “walk slowly and carefully,” which I was. But then, just like that, I was kissing concrete. Well, not exactly. My hands saved my cheeks. But I was down and quite surprised to find myself as such.

No blood, no cuts, not even a bruise. All is well. The moving has resumed and I’m back to climbing stairs, though I have paused to ponder with the Woo Woo’s.

I’ve sought symbols, deeper metaphors, some real meaning to my fall, and the take-away from my little muddy slide doesn’t seem too mystical.

One can try to be careful. Prepare for potential danger. But sometimes, slips just happen.