A Few Blocks of Delight

I suggested to the service department shuttle driver that he let me off at the stop sign several blocks away.  Ostensibly it was to give him an easier time accessing the freeway he needed to drop off his other passenger, but the truth was that it is too pretty of a day not to spend at least a few minutes of it on the sidewalk.  The door slid closed, the van glided away, and the neighborhood opened around me.  Cool for these early days of September -- upper 50's according to the morning news -- the sun was nonetheless bright in the unblemished sky.  A slight breeze animated a few leaves, but the limbs were still, and the birds were having a party of the morning.

Wood smoke was already wisping from Woody's chimney, the foretaste of today's barbecue filling the air.  I'll not be getting there for lunch today, but the smell tempts me to rearrange my plans.  

A squirrel explores the perimeter of a trash bin next to a house, seeking admission.  Finding none, and annoyed by my interruption, he scurries off between the fence pickets toward the trees beyond.  I meant him no malice, and was rather enjoying his diligence, so his exit was a minor disappointment.

A new member of the church -- an African immigrant/refugee who had spent years in a refugee camp before being separated from her husband and children and relocated to the U.S. -- was carrying her garbage to the curb.  Her English is spotty, but smiles and waves are apparently universal vocabulary, and we even manage a reciprocal "good morning" before moving our separate ways.  It feels good to make connection beyond the orderly confines of the pews, and to register mutual recognition.

Too soon, I arrive at the parking lot doors and withdraw the keys from my pocket.  I could, I think to myself, just keep walking -- another block...or two...or three; it is, after all, still early.  Instead, after one more deep breath and a wistful glance back over the neighborhood, I turn the lock and switch on the lights.  The sermon inside my computer still searching for a conclusion won't find one on its own.  And Sunday, as my Dad likes to say, "comes around with ruthless regularity."

Still, it was a nice walk, and a perfect beginning to the day.  And I'm still reconsidering that barbecue.  Maybe I'll call the service department and tell them not to hurry with car.

Where Even the Weeds Make a Garden

It was cool along the path -- especially beside the shaded easterly bank -- and pedestrian traffic was light. After a stormy, growling sort of Sunday, Monday was beginning blue-sky brilliant. The water had been glassy when I passed earlier on an errand into town, but by now the breeze had largely completed its daily dawning duty of brushing the glossy surface into matte. The tractor roared by, leaving in its wake the eponymous mown grass sent of spring. With iPod buds in my ears and a brand new Peter Mayer album to enjoy, I stretched my legs briskly along, pausing every now and then to enjoy a surprising blossom or an uninhibited bird.

And I shivered -- not for chill, but for sheer delight. Circumstances have kept us from taking much advantage of these footsteps in the last year or so; circumstances and, of course, winter. It's true that park personnel plow the trail throughout the snows of winter, but the thought has never held out much appeal to us. We tend to be more the afghan/fireplace/cozying kind of folk than ski mask/goose down/thermal glove hiker types when the temperatures plunge sub-zero. But we have missed it, and have looked forward to taking again, full advantage.

Taking another deep breath, I think how I could get used to starting everyday this way -- if everyday were early May, the air fairly sparkled, the birds were chirping and the sun were in the sky. Everything feels shower-fresh new -- including me, which is strange enough for a perspiring guy with still barely-concealed bedhead. Deep breaths all around, with no task to complete other than putting one foot in front of the other and navigating the 2-mile trail around gently waving and evocative beauty.


Coincidentally -- or perhaps just perfectly -- the last song of the album fades to silence as the trail nears my car. The sun is higher, the cars are louder, and it somehow feels right to head back home and shift into the next part of the day. I'm not sure what that will be or how it will go, but after the lake the bar has been set pretty high. Here, even the dandelions look pieces of art.