I slept in this morning. So did the dog. It was already after 7am when we set out on our walk. The lullaby of rain that helped me sleep so well left everything sodden and they skies still grey. Even the slightest stirring of wind sent a shimmer of droplets down from the trees.
It is fall. The trees are filling with colour. Brilliant yellow, splendid arrays of orange and red. I gather a small collection of leaves as we walk. Maybe I’ll coat them in beeswax (a la Martha Stewart) to preserve them. More likely they will lie pressed between two books for a time and then, discarded. Tossed off the balcony in mid-winter to add a surprise of colour to the snowy path below.
Saturday morning walks are calm. We usually stay out longer, walk a little farther. I let the dog sniff the checkpoints longer, dawdle along a different path. There are no appointments to keep, no real schedule to the day. On a windless, cool day like this one, surrounded by the colours of the leaves and the fresh after-rain smell of the earth, I imagine us just walking all day. In fact, I wish I could just keep walking without my legs wearying, without thirst and, most of all, with somewhere to go.