A cloudy, humid morning, the air a warm bath, out early before the day, and the thunderstorms, catch up with us. I spy a woman I’ve only seen walking — but this time she’s in front of her house. I have to look twice to be sure that it’s her. She looks far less jaunty pushing a lawnmower than she does striding along the street.

Which makes me wonder: Do we have a walking self? More confident and sure, a creature of motion not of pause.

I think that we do.

And if we walk far enough, and long enough, maybe the two selves merge.