Imagined conversations:
"What are you doing here?" you say to me out of the passenger window from your running car.
"Breathing" I say. "What are you doing here?"
"I live here!"
"Hmmmm. In your car? On that patch of asphalt? If so you better homestead it!"
I took a walk today, a hard walk through the back paths, service roads and boulevards of the Woods. It was too gorgeous a day to squander it at home. Oh, sure, I have a realtor coming on Wednesday to talk about the upcoming listing but the house isn't going on the market until the 1st. Plenty of time to truly square away and strip down this funky pad of mine.
I had to walk, and I told myself that I would start to do it again every day, regardless of the weather or time or my dispostion. I've let too much time go by without a serious push at something. I think my weight is the thing I need to concertrate on for the next few months. I would rather have sweaty clothes hanging off of me after a hard hour or so walk than tight, dry, not so comfy ones while I lounge in the comfort of my easy chair. Fat's not where it's at, baby.
But back to that walk, to that imagined conversation with you. I indulge in them because apparently those are the only kinds I will ever have with you. I saw you today. Hell, I walked along the main thoroughfare fully prepared to take on the Detective or see your kids go running by, but instead, as I looked up and faced the light and adjusted my muffler I saw you bearing down on me instead. And instead of turning away or looking down at the road I stared you down, looked directly into your windshield, into your face. You pointed at me as if to askj me "what the hell are you doing here?" Did I quake? No. Instead I saluted you, Roman style, arm out, stiff, no emotion, no waving, just an extension of my body held out towards your passing car.
And that was it. No stopping, no turning around on the part of either party.
It was if I had passed some sort of test. I believe that something, somewhere has happened to me, something that says that I am now cured, okay, ready to walk even longer walks through life unburdened.
I walk that strip in your neck of the Woods because I can. Because I want to. Because your little community is now part of mine. I walk that walk because it says, when you see me in passing "I don't mind seeing your face". Really, M, I still love to see it, even if it's passing by me at twenty five miles an hour through tinted glass.
I saw your face and walked on, happy for the sunshine, the sweat and the time that passes, the one that cures all ills.
Your WHMB
"What are you doing here?" you say to me out of the passenger window from your running car.
"Breathing" I say. "What are you doing here?"
"I live here!"
"Hmmmm. In your car? On that patch of asphalt? If so you better homestead it!"
I took a walk today, a hard walk through the back paths, service roads and boulevards of the Woods. It was too gorgeous a day to squander it at home. Oh, sure, I have a realtor coming on Wednesday to talk about the upcoming listing but the house isn't going on the market until the 1st. Plenty of time to truly square away and strip down this funky pad of mine.
I had to walk, and I told myself that I would start to do it again every day, regardless of the weather or time or my dispostion. I've let too much time go by without a serious push at something. I think my weight is the thing I need to concertrate on for the next few months. I would rather have sweaty clothes hanging off of me after a hard hour or so walk than tight, dry, not so comfy ones while I lounge in the comfort of my easy chair. Fat's not where it's at, baby.
But back to that walk, to that imagined conversation with you. I indulge in them because apparently those are the only kinds I will ever have with you. I saw you today. Hell, I walked along the main thoroughfare fully prepared to take on the Detective or see your kids go running by, but instead, as I looked up and faced the light and adjusted my muffler I saw you bearing down on me instead. And instead of turning away or looking down at the road I stared you down, looked directly into your windshield, into your face. You pointed at me as if to askj me "what the hell are you doing here?" Did I quake? No. Instead I saluted you, Roman style, arm out, stiff, no emotion, no waving, just an extension of my body held out towards your passing car.
And that was it. No stopping, no turning around on the part of either party.
It was if I had passed some sort of test. I believe that something, somewhere has happened to me, something that says that I am now cured, okay, ready to walk even longer walks through life unburdened.
I walk that strip in your neck of the Woods because I can. Because I want to. Because your little community is now part of mine. I walk that walk because it says, when you see me in passing "I don't mind seeing your face". Really, M, I still love to see it, even if it's passing by me at twenty five miles an hour through tinted glass.
I saw your face and walked on, happy for the sunshine, the sweat and the time that passes, the one that cures all ills.
Your WHMB
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