I’ve been walking many of these mornings, my feet hitting the floor, gulping down my 1/2 cup of coffee that he brings to me. Sliding into yesterday’s clothes, stumbling down the stairs, slipping on shoes and heading out the door.
No time to spend eating breakfast, that’s for later.
It’s wake up, and out the door.
Because if I linger, I’m not going to get out there.
Each day that I can walk on dry pavement is a day that I can spend outside.
Breathing fresh air, watching the ravens fly, and the sun eventually slipping over the mountain to tumble down it’s slopes.
An early morning glory ride for the upcoming day.
When the snow falls and stays, I will be forced to become a good friend of the treadmill.
Listening to the monotonous drone of the endlessly looping belt over the sound of the stereo.
It’s not the same at all, and it’s boring.
When the snow flies, walking country roads slows down to a crawl, high stepping from patch of bare pavement, to an avalanche of partially melted ice, hoping it will hold your weight without moving.
So for now I will happily take photos with frozen fingers that can’t grasp the phone. My dollar store techie gloves working fine for hitting buttons, but not for warmth.
I don’t care if it’s frosty, and cold, it’s beautiful and fresh, and it’s outdoors.
I inhale deeply, and walk up the slight hill running next to a field of sheep, so busily shearing the last remaining grass, that none of them look up as a black streak of cat darts by.
Hastily chased by a tall, brown, tightly pruned poodle, and a small bundle of furiously barking white fluff.
The owner of the errant dogs comes running down the long sloping driveway in his housecoat. Bare legs flapping, slippers on his feet, and more on view then I care to see this early. He is yelling with his outdoor voice for the retreat of the dogs, who are not obeying.
As he rounds the curve of the driveway, and further exposes himself there is little I can do other than give a awkward wave, and look down as I pass by.
Thankfully he was further from the road than the dogs growling at the gate, and I hope he doesn’t recognize me.
With the cat long gone, the dogs are herded back into the house, while the sheep ignore all of the chaos.
I walk on as quickly as my cold legs can get themselves moving after stopping and clicking a shot of the hungry hawk perched in the treetops looking for early morning takeout.
A battered blue pickup rolls past on the usually deserted road that crosses in front of me, revving it’s engine as the driver grinds the gears. I’m hidden from his sight by a clump of bushes.
A old stripped couch is dumped haphazardly in the back, it’s 70’s style round castors spinning slowly. Inside a middle aged man, and a small child perch on the seat, peering out at me as I pass them.
Would there have been a lesson on illegal dumping if I had not walked by?
Judging by the way he speeds off, it might have been.
All this excitement would be missed if I were treadmill thumping.
So for now, despite the cold, despite the warm bed beckoning, the road is preferable to the treadmill.