Paths

The days are cooler, but brilliantly sunny, and perfect for a cat stroll through the leaves. Of course, Max the dog, loves to sit in the sun as well, his butterscotch colored body settling gently on the grass. The goldenrod on the edge of the fields are nothing but reeds now, and stand straight against the trees. The underbrush of the woods is leafless, and the paths the deer make are clear. One day, I will go explore the path the bear made and left.

I spend part of each day in the sun, not wanting to repeat the mistakes of last winter. I can resume walking today, although not with Max. He pulls the leash; I have to get him a harness. When I lived at the Old House, I could walk with the cats, who followed me willingly. But I am afraid to lead what few I have left down the road in this subdivision, as safe as it is.

My body knits slowly under my doctor's care. My lungs clear and the ankle heals. I appreciate growing older anew; one of the housemates is close to death. She is younger than me, not a good sign.

But the birds still sing. The weather outside, and the Christmas commercials on TV are oddly at variance. It is simply not cold enough yet to appreciate the thought of snow. Many leaves are still on the trees, and the eye doesn't pick out the evergreens with ease, yet.

Today, I cannot look at the horse trails of the past, but must look at today's walk along Tinker Creek. It has been a while since I was there; the last time with my Love. If I am going to make it through this winter, I must start walking now, and I cannot think of a better place, filled with more beautiful memories. See you there.