Walking. In cool water from Lake of Memory.

1040 (not your tax return), 1040 consecutive (almost) days on this Cove Island morning walk. Like in a row. 

But for the wind and the light rain, it would be a pleasant, 35° F morning in March. Ah yes, but for the wind and the light rain…it feels like 26° F, and the hood is up to protect this morning’s erratic ruminations. Diane Ackerman: “the brain’s genius is its gift for reflection. What an odd, ruminating, noisy, self-interrupting conversation we conduct with ourselves from birth to…,” no, i can’t say the word, let’s just say whatever comes after the End.

My weather app flashes an alert for a Coastal Flood Warning. With heavy rains overnight, the park, and its paths, are splotched with puddles. My boots are caked with mud from yesterday’s adventures, and rather than step around the puddles, I step through the center of them hoping the water line falls short of my boot tops. There is something ever so soothing about the clop clop clopand racing barefoot through puddles during rainy summer days in August as an adolescent. The body light, floats like a feather, B.A., Before Adulthood, and the accumulation of the Heavy. My body veers towards one puddle and then the next, clop, clop, clop.  Give me quickly / the cool water flowing from the Lake of Memory inscribed on a fourth-century-B.C. Greek tablet.

I walk.

The rains bring out the water fowl. Geese. Ducks. Gulls, multiple varieties.

I approach a Canada Goose who slurps water from a puddle, and then lifts her long neck to swallow.  I step way wide of her not to disrupt her feeding, noting the transformation, my transformation, offering her my respect, recalling at this same moment, in this same body, years earlier, racing towards the bird, flushing it, laughing, as she frantically flapped her wings to get airborne — and she was gone, but not really.

I stand in the center of the field at Cove Island Park, and flocks of birds descend around me.

There was no one at the park when i arrived at 5:30, and no one here an hour later. Quiet, but for the beating of wings, and Virginia Woolf thrumming in my ear…

How much better is silence…

How much better to sit by myself like the solitary sea-bird that opens its wings on the stake.

Let me sit here forever…

myself being myself.” 

DK Photo @ 6:38 am. March 11, 2023. Cove Island Park, Stamford, CT.  More photos from this morning’s walk here


  1. Beautiful, DK!
    Most days I avoid looking that far back on myself!

    Liked by 3 people

  2. ‘Not your tax return’ made me laugh. The bulk of the post made me ponder. The reference to Woolf made me happy. Beautiful writing this morning, DK.

    Liked by 2 people

  3. novarosales says:

    Lindas fotos, bendiciones .


  4. I was triggered as soon as I saw 1040! Luckily the silence won me over

    Liked by 1 person

  5. Your posts always fill my soul. Friends do that, you know. Thank you.

    Liked by 1 person

  6. Beautiful. Thank you.


  7. I had a quick chuckle when I read your ‚not tax return‘ note…. We here in Switzerland Don‘t have those numbers but in France everything was full of numbers, abbreviations, codes….
    The story you told is absolutely wonderful. You have come a long way in terms of understanding, comprehending, giving thought and consideration to ‚others‘, even a Canada goose…. A short while ago we saw and heard a flock of swans taking off and it was a magic and surreal experience. The wind hissing under their wings, the way they changed direction, formed and reformed in beautiful dance-like formations, the long, long throats. Made me actually think of my Canada time when the geese took off or arrived over Lake Ontario. Just beautiful and truly awesome.
    Thank you for this peaceful read and the feeling of thankfulness for having a friend far away with such profound talent and ways with words.

    Liked by 3 people

  8. Very cool.
    Yet thanks for the intrusion of the 1040 and tax returns…. And the visual of “ if Wally was here how would he handle all this mud?”
    The creative artist within us lives in the real world too. 🙏🏻


  9. I smiled as I read of the ‘clop clop clop’ in puddles – perhaps because it’s something I do as well, and delight in the sloshing, not caring one whit about wet shoes or socks or the hem of my pants. There’s no finger wagging, no ‘what are you doing’ – I’m defiant in my delight. I wonder sometimes if you ever look back 1040 days back (in a row), just to see how your appreciation or internal dialogues have changed from the outset to today…

    Liked by 2 people

    • Mimi; I often wonder about that too. There IS a distinctive change in the wording, there‘s much more consideration of nature things, less on the technical gadgets (or maybe he‘s just b….y tired of reading about our constant reminder to rather appreciate nature than checking his electronic gear!?!)…. Also I think our friend has become more serene on his daily walks, there‘s less fretting, etc. I wonder if we‘ll ever know!

      Liked by 1 person

    • “ I’m defiant in my delight” Love that. I largely live this way.
      I think the transformation is much deeper from 2011, founding of blog, to today. Or perhaps it coincides with growing up (a bit anyway) 😊

      Liked by 2 people

  10. I’m sure you’re right – though we can only see the picture you want us to see…

    Liked by 3 people

  11. Late to this party, but as always delighted by both your post and the comments it elicited. It seems to me that the ‘tension on rubber band’ has eased a bit over the years…no longer driving yourself relentlessly to beat a time on a clock but rather savoring those small, quotidian moments that bring texture and meaning to life. Love this, DK, for so many reasons.

    Liked by 1 person

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