Along the river. . .


For the past year, IZ and I have been walking the river on Saturdays. Weather permitting. It has become our sanctuary. Our ritual. Our way of exorcising all the pent up emotion that life throws at us Sunday  through Friday. We talk about our dreams, our frustrations, our hopes.

Along the way we meet fellow travelers. Today, a friend of a friend who just passed away — I don’t know her, but we’re connected by our mutual loss, the funeral we attended just yesterday.  And a dog name Maggie May, whose owner informs us that she knows when the wind is blowing by looking at the trees: which means leaves are also blowing and Maggie May lives to chase leaves and fetch them. Choosing just the “right one” each time to take home. And our neighbor, queueing up for the trolley with a visiting relative: because that is what you do with visiting relatives.

As one hour gives way to the next, we are transported as much as we are rooted. Touching base with the local barista and the pavement beneath our feet. This is more than exercise. It is very foundation of our week.  And I am reminded, despite the stress that we vent, the hurdles in front of us (yes, we can eat the elephant one bite at a time), that our lives are truly amazing. MY LIFE is amazing.

And I fall in love all over again.