Where I Walk

I've walked this path close to our home for many years.

Countless mornings I've been joined by a friend
 who lives in a house just down the road . . .
in fact, by the end of this (school) year we will have shared
100 seasons of walking.

This friend is a lover of birds and never ceases to amaze me with what she sees.
 

In the middle of a conversation she will stop and take not of a rare variety of a tiny bird in the bush, a crane on a stump in the lake or a wood duck amongst the mallards . . . all the while I'm glad if I can figure out the difference between a goose and a duck.

Last week, one morning as we walked in the rain, we came to a stop and had to take a detour, as the lake had overflowed onto the path. We laughed at the ducks frolicking on our path. 

 

I love this path . . .

the benches . . .

the pond . . . more visible as the leaves come down . . .

the little picnic tables . . .

the variety of tall trees and messy underbrush . . .

and the changing colors through the seasons.

On this particular day, the carpet of gold laid out for us, made me feel like
 we were treading on holy ground . . .
 almost afraid to crush the effect by walking on it.

Soon these trees will be bare and possibly covered in snow.
The snow will melt and before long fresh lime-green growth will appear.
Seasons are an integral part of life . . .
at the moment made more real by the reality that
 a SOLD sticker is plastered onto the For Sale sign at
the house just down the road.

But a plan is in place that when she moves to the other part of town next week,
 she will get in her car . . . three mornings a week . . .
 rain or shine . . . my doorbell will ring
 and we'll continue our walk
one season at a time.