A formation of Canada geese flies by my office window. On Wednesday, December 17 at 3:23 p.m. I decide to step outside. I put aside my work, put on my coat, pull on my gloves, and walk past the cubicles and rows of file cabinets that flank the path to the front door. I open it.
It is cold, but it is a good cold. It is a fine day for a walk.
I walk across the lot, turn the corner, and head up the street. At the end of the street, the path diverges. I can go left, or I can go right. To my left is the east, where the prairie rolls out. Over the prairie the sky is still blue, the clouds are high, and the way is clear. To my right is the west. The mountains block my view. The clouds are dark and hang low. This way could be tricky; filled with many challenges. I take the right way.
The path is icy in spots, made so by the recent snowfall that melted, then refroze overnight. But it does not slow my stride. Nor does it seem to hinder the others on this path, most of them runners. They race by me, focused on nothing but the rush.
But I keep a steady pace. I notice the things that they cannot. I watch the geese slide to a landing on the frozen pond. I see the twisted formation on the side of the giant cottonwood tree that looks like a ghoulish face. I hear the magpies whistling their warnings. I see the waning gibbous moon above me.
On my way, I sense a sudden stillness. I pause, and slowly turn my head to the source. A fox. I wait. The fox resumes her hunt, digging through the snow for a morsel. Finding something, she quickly chews it down. When she is done, she raises her head to look at me. Her eyes are steady. They hold mine. They seem to say “Well, what are you waiting for?” “Nothing,” I think.
The fox crosses my path and begins her hunt anew on the other side. I walk on. Satisfied with my answer to myself, I continue my journey.
Where am I headed? Anywhere I want. I may even make it up as I go along. I’ll need some tools, but a sharp pencil and a blank sheet of paper will suffice for this trip.
Up ahead there is a bridge on the path. I cross it. The world opens up. I am on my way.
It is cold, but it is a good cold. It is a fine day for a walk.
I walk across the lot, turn the corner, and head up the street. At the end of the street, the path diverges. I can go left, or I can go right. To my left is the east, where the prairie rolls out. Over the prairie the sky is still blue, the clouds are high, and the way is clear. To my right is the west. The mountains block my view. The clouds are dark and hang low. This way could be tricky; filled with many challenges. I take the right way.
The path is icy in spots, made so by the recent snowfall that melted, then refroze overnight. But it does not slow my stride. Nor does it seem to hinder the others on this path, most of them runners. They race by me, focused on nothing but the rush.
But I keep a steady pace. I notice the things that they cannot. I watch the geese slide to a landing on the frozen pond. I see the twisted formation on the side of the giant cottonwood tree that looks like a ghoulish face. I hear the magpies whistling their warnings. I see the waning gibbous moon above me.
On my way, I sense a sudden stillness. I pause, and slowly turn my head to the source. A fox. I wait. The fox resumes her hunt, digging through the snow for a morsel. Finding something, she quickly chews it down. When she is done, she raises her head to look at me. Her eyes are steady. They hold mine. They seem to say “Well, what are you waiting for?” “Nothing,” I think.
The fox crosses my path and begins her hunt anew on the other side. I walk on. Satisfied with my answer to myself, I continue my journey.
Where am I headed? Anywhere I want. I may even make it up as I go along. I’ll need some tools, but a sharp pencil and a blank sheet of paper will suffice for this trip.
Up ahead there is a bridge on the path. I cross it. The world opens up. I am on my way.
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