Walking helps me think, helps me create, helps me stay in shape. Most of all, walking helps my mood. How many days I’ve left the house in the doldrums, mentally pacing, worry-logged, going nowhere. But once out the door, motion takes hold. Whatever I was fretting about before recedes. In its place are suburban sights and sounds, some familiar, others not. Today a fox stood his ground as I approached along a Franklin Farm path. When I was about 20 yards away, he turned and ran. I wish I could have followed him, lived a bit of his day. Was he a she hunting for food? A mother with babies in the woods? On the way home I passed a last stand of honeysuckle and caught a whiff of its perfume. It’s the last Friday of spring, still and clear. The medicine has worked, once again.