I didn’t fail this morning. My feet hit the pavement at dark-thirty with excited four legged friend at side. There is something about being out before the sun comes up that lends towards a pleasant day. Cruising the streets taking roll on who is up and who isn’t. Pondering the busy preparations for the day in front of mirrors and in kitchens. Wandering through the calm stealing a little peace from neighborhood streets.
I walked past a house where a baby was born just last week. Born there in that very home. The lights were on and I envisioned two new parents tending to a tiny, delicate person. I slip past driveways where I know old, single ladies live and wonder about their mornings. Are they lonely? Or are they enjoying a leisurely morning of coffee and news after years of getting their own out the door.
These streets are so familiar. The people, the houses, cars, dogs, cats, and junk in the yard. I don’t “know” everybody but in a way I do. Walking becomes this intimate act with your neighborhood. So much more is absorbed than when zooming by in the car.
I like walking. Walking in the crisp morning air that hints of spring around the bend.
I like walking. Walking in the evening with my family; baby snuggled up to me and hand slipped into husband’s.
I like walking. Walking with girlfriends while swapping thoughts and feelings. Some big, some small, but all important.
I like walking. Walking at night with the stars overhead to remind you of the enormity of this thing called life.
Sometimes my feet yearn for a dirt path or a country road while my eyes search for mountains on the horizon. Other days my toes wish to be tickled by sand while my ears strain to hear the lull of the evening tide. Mostly, though, I am content to walk through my neighborhood streets in this sweet little life that I live.
I like walking.