Saturday Morning Walk

The day dared me to find its beauty. The sky was flat and gray, the palette muted, and the air was damp and chilly. This coolness was refreshing after a week of unusual heat, but the landscape was muffled and mysterious, and the mood veered toward gloom. At the top of a hill beyond a curving road, I saw a lone figure running. A quail alighted on a fence post, the noisy dogs barked, a train went by, and it felt like something was supposed to happen, but nothing did. Or maybe everything was happening, and this is what it looked like.  

 I walked along the main road, waving to passing vehicles conveying workers, acquaintances, strangers, and friends. Everyone I knew slowed to a stop, Ranch-style, for a middle-of-the-road chat. The flattest summer on record, said a surfer who was headed to the swimming pool in town. Someone else was meeting friends for lunch in Los Olivos, a young couple were going to do their Saturday errands. One of the neighbors excitedly announced that their wildlife camera had captured a picture of a bear near their house. She pulled out her phone and showed me the image. It was indeed a handsome animal.

Nobody asked me if I wanted a lift. I guess me out walking has become a common sight, and I think I blend in well with the fog and weathered fences. I decided to go back along the beach. Crossing the railroad tracks, I saw a woman with white hair and two dogs on leashes. From a distance, she reminded me so much of my old friend Jeanne, I felt an instant affinity with her. I said hello and introduced myself, like some sort of genial campground host. She told me she was here visiting her son, and she informed me that there was a lot of wildlife around, as evidenced by the numerous paw and hoof prints she had noticed on the sand. A long string of pelicans flew above us at that very moment, one of many that had been passing in the sky, perhaps a serial migration to a pelican convention.

I walked back along the rising tide, gingerly stepping on rocks now and then and trying in vain to keep my feet dry. I found a broken sliver of abalone that was so satiny and gorgeous, I could not resist pocketing it, and I picked up an aluminum can to recycle, then headed back toward the canyon that leads to my house. The sun was still hiding, but the brown hills were somehow warming, becoming more dimensional and multi-hued, with hints of orange and yellow, and clumps of dark green foliage. In the far distance, a line of black cattle moved along, followed by cowgirl Sue astride her sturdy paint. It was all slow motion.

But something was happening.