Time flows like molasses through Marcus’s consciousness as he trudges along his daily route through the city park. Left foot, right foot, left foot again - the steady rhythm of his steps mirrors the predictable pattern his life has fallen into. He’s been walking this same path for what feels like decades, though his driver’s license claims he’s only thirty-five.

“Another dreary Tuesday,” he mutters to himself, watching fallen leaves skitter across the path. His thoughts drift and swirl like autumn debris caught in an eddy:

…meeting at 2, must remember to call Mom, why does Sandra from accounting keep leaving post-its on my desk, when did I become so…

“Stable?” A voice interrupts his mental meandering.

Marcus startles, nearly losing his footing on the weathered park bench that has mysteriously appeared in his path. Perched upon it is an elderly woman in a violet cardigan, knitting what appears to be a möbius strip scarf.

“I… I’m sorry?” he stammers.

“You were wondering when you became so stable,” she says matter-of-factly, needles clicking hypnotically. “The answer is never. You just convinced yourself you were.”

“But I am stable,” Marcus protests. “I have routines, responsibilities, a sensible sedan…”

“Boring!” the woman declares, jabbing a knitting needle in his direction. “You’ve confused stability with stagnation, dear boy. Time for a reset.”

Before Marcus can respond, she reaches out and pokes him squarely in the forehead with her needle. The world tilts sideways, colors bleeding together like wet watercolors…

He awakens to find himself exactly where he was - sort of. The park is the same, but different. Brighter somehow. His body feels lighter, younger. A quick glance at his reflection in a puddle shows his gray-flecked hair has returned to its youthful brown.

“What just happened?” he asks aloud.

“A reset, obviously!” calls the knitting woman, now somehow perched in a nearby tree. “Second chance, fresh start, do-over - whatever you want to call it. But this time, try being stable without being stuck.”

Marcus’s mind whirls with possibilities. He could take that photography course he’d always dreamed about, finally ask Sandra from accounting on a date, maybe even…

“Less thinking, more doing!” the woman calls out, tossing her completed scarf down to him. It wraps around his neck of its own accord, warm and encouraging. “Now go be interesting!”

Marcus laughs - actually laughs - for what feels like the first time in years. His feet begin moving, not in their usual plodding rhythm but in a kind of dance. Left, right, spin, leap! Still stable, still moving forward, but with joy rather than obligation.

As he practically skips toward the park exit, he hears the knitting woman’s voice floating after him: “Much better! Though next time, perhaps we’ll work on your fashion sense. That tie is absolutely dreadful!”

He’s still chuckling as he heads toward the office, wondering what Sandra will think of his new scarf - and his new lease on life.