We took a quiet stroll through the neighborhood this morning – my husband and I. This is a rare occurrence. He is the usual dog-walker each morning. Now that his schedule has changed, however, we have a bit more time together.
So we walked.
In spite of my not feeling well, we walked.
In spite of all there was to attend to back at home, we walked.
We chose a leisurely pace, though Kona encouraged us to speed up by tugging on her leash now and then. We spoke little, although there was plenty to discuss. We simply walked – enjoyed the crisp late morning air, the quiet streets, the emerging spring yards.
We traversed a new path – at least new to me – and my husband pointed out features of this house or that one.
“These people feed the stray cats that wander our neighborhood – see the bowls they put out.”
“Look at this pencil cholla – I’d like one of those in our yard.”
“This man sold his black crossfire and bought one of those new Jeep Cherokees.”
(My husband is an avid observer of detail, as am I.)
I nodded, listened, made small talk. We walked.
I noticed houses I had not seen before – with cosy, albeit small, front porches – inviting one to come up and sit in one of the plush chairs or cushioned benches. Come up and sip some coffee amid the clay pots of daffodils and tulips. One after another – delicious, warm, welcoming porches. I made mental notes of how to improve my own front porch.
We walked. We observed. We pondered. We were present. A happy accident.
Quote of the day: