Walking My Way

I finally started a daily walking routine: 20 minutes every morning around Erickson Way at a fast clip. I do not love it, but I know it’s what I need. With this bit of exercise, and reducing sweets and white carbs, I am once again able to pull my skinny pants over my hips…and zip them up.

I like the quiet solitude of my morning walk. I watch my step, scanning the sidewalk for uneven cement and other potential hazards. Pacing this route with the forest to my right, I am sometimes witness to the shocking aftermath that follows a night of secret death and destruction in the natural world. Murder and mayhem. Predator and prey. Like, what’s this curled skeletal-looking thing? Upon closer examination, are those a string of tiny vertebrae? And look at the mass of brownish hair attached to the end of it! I conclude it was a small animal that gave its life to something larger, stronger, more clever. I am disappointed not to have my phone in my back pocket to document this common occurrence in a photo. I resolve to carry the phone henceforth.

Similar sights regularly appear. Here are clusters of long patterned feathers with identical individual feathers scattered about nearby. The diner craved only the meat…no plumage, thank you. And look here: one, two…a half a dozen clumps of charcoal gray hair within a three-foot circular “crime scene.” A squirrel would be my guess.

After encountering a worm in his listless death throes, I monitor his gradual deterioration over several days. The second morning he lies in the same place and position. He desiccates with each passing day, looking dark and leathery. Farewell, good and faithful servant of the earth.

As summer months pass into autumn, I notice the natural, seasonal die-off of both plant and animal life. Leaves, of course, are falling off trees. But other life cycles are also concluding, like the annual giant cicada. I discover isolated bodies, lifeless, in my path on seven different days, mostly in August. Not to be confused with the 17-year, orange-eyed cicadas that invaded our area two years ago, these cicadas have black eyes and bodies with beautiful green markings and greenish lacy wings. They’re also called “dogday” cicadas. (I Googled them.) Of course I take their pictures.

Depending on the precise moment that I pass an exact spot on my walk, I am likely to see the familiar faces of other regular walkers. Walkers are very dependable, schedule-wise. A simple “good morning” is sufficient as we pass each other. Serious walkers do not stop to chat…including me. I do, however, frequently stop to greet a dog. “Hello, darling. How are you today? Are you having a good walkie? Are you the sweetest thing in the whole wide world?” I pet them, even kiss them if they’re my intimate friends, like Scout or Eddie.

Some dogs, such as the fragile-looking chihuahua-mix I caught up with recently, are more interested in exotic ground smells than in meeting me. This little guy interrupted his orgy of stinky odors for just a nano-second to make eye contact with me. We all have our priorities.

There is much to say about breathing and slopes and speed and relieving boredom. I’ll save it for the next segment of WALKING MY WAY.

~Julie Helms~