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Category: walking

Brahms to the Rescue

Brahms to the Rescue

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Brahms came to the rescue yesterday. He didn’t ride in on a white horse, but he was there with his complex melodies and lyricism, with his passion and playfulness.

He was there in the morning when I walked, he was there in the evening when I bounced on the trampoline. And he stayed with me as I sautéed squash and onions and mixed it with farfalle pasta, as I broiled and plated the chicken, as I remembered I had fresh basil to season it all.

What a utilitarian composer! Brahms is not just for bedtime or funerals or academic processions. If you give him a chance, he will stay with you all day long.

(Photo courtesy New York Public Library Digital Collection)

First Thing

First Thing

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Today, I took an early walk before the heat began building. The sky was full of light but still uncertain. The day did not yet know what it would become.

This is one reason to walk first thing in the morning: the freshness of the air and the sense of possibility.

But there is another. There is the fact that the walking itself shapes the day, makes it more than it would be otherwise.

This doesn’t happen all the time, but it did today. And I’m grateful for it.

(No, I wasn’t walking on a beach, but I was remembering it.)

Walking to Metro

Walking to Metro

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I hadn’t done this in a while, had forgotten how exhilarating it can be to park at the high school and walk to the Metro station.  But when I saw the open parking spot, I impulsively pulled in, covered my window with a sun shield, locked the car and took off.

The pace set my mind spinning and the rhythm of footfall turned an ordinary commute into a tiny adventure. Yes, tiny. I don’t want to over-dramatize this. But when the conditions are right, parking and walking not only saves $5, but also provides a jump-start on the day.

Like all walks, this one has segments: crossing at the corner, trudging up the hill, turning into the neighborhood, walking through the “tunnel” (which is not really a tunnel but a passageway under an overpass) and then passing alongside the garage on the way to the station and train.

There’s only one problem now: This afternoon, I’ll have to walk back.

Chaotic Sidewalks

Chaotic Sidewalks

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It’s not just road construction, which this morning changed the bus route at both ends of my commute. It’s not just the demolition of buildings in Crystal City, which makes the walk to my office a jingling, jangling, high-decibel adventure every day.

It’s the darned motorized scooters, too, which seem to be standing or lying everywhere I try to walk. On a quick lunch-break stroll, the scooters are there. On my way in every morning and home every night, they’re cluttering up the bus stop and turning the sidewalks into an obstacle course.

I know I sound like a curmudgeon, and I can appreciate the freedom they promise. But the dangers of these devices are being realized as their riders land in doctor’s offices and emergency rooms. And that’s for the people who sign up for them.

What about those of us who don’t?

Fortunate Day

Fortunate Day

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I was waking up slowly when the sound of a falling branch catapulted me into full consciousness. It’s a hazard of living in the midst of a waning suburban forest, a place where the old oaks have outlived their three score and ten.

This time we seem to have been spared. It was either a branch from the common land, or a smaller limb off the tree in our yard that’s already slated for demolition next time the tree guy comes around.

But the swoosh and thud did serve as a rousing alarm. It got me up and into the morning, where I took a delicious amble through humid air and young birds doing that little looping fly that is so endearing.

A day that begins with an early walk, no matter how one comes by it, is a fortunate day indeed.

Rainy Tuesday

Rainy Tuesday

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The weekend weather was sunny and hot, perfect for Memorial Day. And the rain quite politely held off until this morning. I noticed the first faint drops on an early walk.

At first they seemed little more than moisture squeezed out of humid skies. But by the time I’d returned home and brewed a pot of tea the drops had turned into a deluge, and I drove to Metro with foggy windows on puddling roads.

It was a tropical rain that fell, sheets and sheets.  I think of the flowers I just planted by the mailbox. They’ll be getting a long drink of water. And the ferns that are still in winter-basement mode (which is to say, half dead) … they will love the way this day is starting out.

Even humans don’t seem to mind terribly much. We’re heading back to the office anyway. So let the raindrops fall …

The Detour

The Detour

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They’re working on Fox Mill Road, the quasi thoroughfare, quasi byway that links me to Metro and beyond. Conveniently, the detour starts just beyond my neighborhood, so at least for now the way home and back is clear. What isn’t convenient is that the detour runs right through my neighborhood.

Which meant that last night wasn’t the best evening to go for a post-dinner stroll. Still, that’s what I did — complete with headlamp and reflective vest.

It was busier than a typical Monday evening. I found myself stepping off the road more times than I would like. But even the higher-than-usual car volume couldn’t mar the peaceful evening, couldn’t banish the night sounds, lift the heavy air or blunt the honeysuckle scent that almost overpowered me at the corner.

The walk was my detour, too, a departure from my normal routine, my own diversion from the day.

Late-Day Stroll

Late-Day Stroll

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Copper and I had a delicious late evening walk the other night. There was a sliver of a fingernail moon just setting in the west, along with the sun.

There were birds darting everywhere, finishing up their late-day chores before bedding down for the night. There were bats, too, I suppose, just starting their day, though we didn’t see any.

Mostly, we just strolled at the pace that has become our own, which is to say much slower than either of us goes individually. He sniffed, I mulled. It was meditative, like pacing a labyrinth.

It was the perfect way to end the day.

Sun Screen

Sun Screen

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Driving to Metro this morning I was squinting most of the way. It was full-on sun as I headed east. An early, low sun that slanted beneath my visor and almost blinded me at times.

I was counting on this sun, hoping it would warm the air and brighten the day. And it was complying. But it was doing it with such urgency that I felt within it the slow, sluggish air of July.

It was then — and later, as I loped around the block a couple times waiting for the bus — that I felt grateful for my sunglasses. When I put them on, the glare goes away, and I feel cooler, in more ways than one.

Even more than that, I feel protected, tucked away. As if the glasses screen me not just from the sun but from everything else, too.

A Moment

A Moment

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Yesterday before my own evening walk, I took Copper for a short stroll. It was warm and breezy. We did our usual, torn-doggie-ACL-shortened amble. Before heading home we walked into the Morrison’s yard so I could pick up a throwaway paper that was left there.

And then, without warning, I had a moment. The wind was lifting pink blossom petals from the weeping cherry and swirling them around in a kind of pink snow. Two strings of wind chimes were rattling in a disjointed harmony. Copper, who can be cantankerous, was being sweet. I was aware of the softness of his fur and his big brown eyes.

I was overcome suddenly with a feeling of fulfillment, a realization that this is what it’s all about: walking the dog at the end of a long day, dinner still to get, labors ahead of and behind me — but in this moment free to breathe deeply, to listen and to think.