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Walking shoes…

Weather has been glorious. Not to last I’m sure…but still.

walkingWhen spring rolls around I like to stretch my legs a bit. So I walk. A few miles at a time. Up and down unfamiliar side streets. I live in an area that isn’t very compact….but is still considered small. Working class stiffs. Some more working class than others….but what place ain’t like that around here?

It’s the hour before dusk usually. Lots of hidden dogs behind doors and windows…..announcing my presence to the rest of the street. A burglar around here is rare. I’m not even turning the corner and everybody knows a stranger is around. Folks are nice enough though. They wave and make sure I keep moving. I don’t feel unwelcome, but I ain’t gonna stop and check out the architecture either.

Lot of flags back here. Lots of right wing bumper stickers. I count three “don’t tread on me” stickers on the same road. These are the streets that give the census bureau fits.

Thankfully the dogs that are outside are tied. They always come running….and then get snapped back by their own momentum. I flinch…and then feel bad….and then feel grateful. Rich people always seem to have those dogs that can’t be bothered to bark at you. Like it’s beneath them. Out here dogs seem perpetually hungry. And lean. And perfectly capable of mayhem. But under control. It’s all good.

Lots of kids out and about. Making lots of noise. Cooped up the whole winter….forced to harness all that energy. Now it can come out. The yards are green again. There’s a dad playing catch with his daughter. He looks like he’s having more fun than she is. Hey…us grown kids have been inside all winter too you know.

I used to take music on my walks. But now I leave it. I want to listen as much as I want to see and feel. Those dogs. Those kids. What’s the point if I can’t hear them? Feels like cheating….like curling up to a video of burning logs in a fireplace on a cold dark night….or listening the the crashing ocean waves via a sound machine on the night stand.

I try to imagine things. Who lives in there? What’s their story? How did they get here? What makes them stay? When they decide to walk, where do they go? I can see the toys of children in the yard. How old are the kids? Are the toys current? Or have they been outgrown?

I remember flying home one time…and looking down on the valley. It was nighttime. All the homes….in bunches. Lights. It was perhaps 9pm. Everybody getting ready to tuck in. Each light a potential novel. All the secrets. The loves and the loves that were lost. The struggles and the triumphs. The quiet crimes and the quieter heroism. No one person could ever get to the bottom of even one small cluster of one small town. There’s too much there. I could walk for 40 more years and never grasp all I see.

And that’s a humbling feeling.

That’s life really.

You’re bored? How is that possible? With so much out there to discover? Literally within walking distance.

And it makes me want to lace ’em up tomorrow (assuming we don’t get an April blizzard….anything is possible this year) and make my way down different side streets. I’ve got multitudes to choose from.

In a bit..


Categories: Uncategorized
  1. Ron Simasek
    April 23, 2014 at 9:23 am

    Yo brother. You’re quite the writer. I love reading your shit. (High praise from where I sit). I look at your work and see one of the most prolific guys out there. Quality stuff, all of it. Good work, my friend. You’re the real deal. In a bit….Ron

  2. jimbob
    April 23, 2014 at 10:49 am

    I once went for a walk in NYC during a hurricane

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