I left the house early this morning for my walk.  It was already warm, and this day promises to be a scorcher.  As I emerge from my subdivision the sun is just rising on my right, a hot bright red light below the tree line.  The full moon is still in the sky to my left, a pale pink shadow of it’s former self.  I decide to walk with my head held high, focusing on the distant road ahead, rather than watching my feet, hoping to ease the backache I generally get after a few miles.   Today’s route is one of my favorites; a hilly four mile loop through farm country and back through town.  As I come out from under the cover of trees the sun burns the side of my face.  I reconsider my route.  If I take the full loop the last mile will be uphill and in the sun.  Not a good combination.  Better to go two miles, turn around and come back, I will enjoy the farms and woods twice.

Keeping my head high and focusing on everything around me rather than my feet I inevitably notice subtle signs of fall.  A group of robins flocking under old apple trees, feasting on the yellow, fallen fruit, the side of the road littered with walnuts and further down the road hickory nuts, a horse pasture covered in queen anne’s lace and edged with heavy goldenrod.

Reaching mile one a fat old beagle rests on the porch of a farmhouse.  Apparently I am important enough to bay at, but not important enough to leave the porch.  His barking attracts the attention of a retreiver who streams out of the family garden where he is undoubtedly hunting for woodchucks and chipmunks.  He too deems me unimportant and goes back about his business.  I find it difficult, with my head held high and eyes ahead, to place my feet against the undulating hills and valleys of the washboard road.  I focus on my feet again. 

A pebble slips quietly into my shoe as if wishing to be transported to another place.  Like me it feels the urge to explore new destinations, experience new things, see new sights.  I decide to let it ride there in my shoe as long as it doesn’t become obnoxious.  Somewhere a horse calls for breakfast.  A quarter mile to go up a hill until the turn around point, I begin to feel the strain and concentrate on my breathing, the way I would if I was struggling while running.  The horse calls again, closer now.  I see her, a beautiful golden horse with a bleached blond mane under a tree.  Pretty girl I call, the tail swishes in reply.

A white cat sits beside a mailbox at the top of the hill.  It’s staring at me.  I stare back.  Maybe it isn’t a white cat.  Maybe it’s a small dog.  I gain the top of the hill and the little white dog darts back up his driveway, barking and growling.  As I make the turn he moves back to the mailbox, still barking.  Brave little dog I call to him.  He snarls in return and holds his ground protecting his family and his mailbox from the likes of me.

I pick up the pace on the downhill and head for home.