Tag: Story

You think you know, but you have no idea.

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I’m trying to up my game. Expand the repertoire to include time lapse videos from still photos (like the shot of the cormorant up above from this morning).

Over the last few weeks, I’ve been watching Sawsan’s apprentice (aka Cara) set up the tripod, wrap its claws around the smartphone, level up the sight lines, take a deep breath… and hit the go button. And wait. And wait. And wait, somewhere between 2 to 2 1/2 hours until the sun is sufficiently up in the sky for the time lapse to catch the full end to end twilight to sunrise light show.

Cara can do it, repeatedly. Then any idiot can do this, right?

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Walking. To Eternity.

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3:15 am.
I flip through the morning papers. Jesus, why do I subject myself to this?
Politics (sigh), Middle East, Ukraine, Senator on the take, Earth camped out on a hot tin roof.
Alexandra Fuller in Fi: “How quickly we’ve messed this all up: everything melting, flooding, on fire.”

1536 consecutive (almost) days on this daybreak morning walk at Cove Island Park. Like in a row.
And what a day it is.
While everything burns, I walk, here, on Fantasy Island.

Stars, stars and more stars painted on a cloudless sky.
6 mph breeze from the north. Leaves rustle overhead. Birds beginning to wake.
65° F.
This is mid-July people.

And, setting aside the weight gain which I will NOT let throw shade on a beautiful morning, not a single body part hurts. Not one.

There’s no doubt, absolutely ZERO chance (mostly because of my diet and conditioning discipline) that I will not live forever.

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Walking. With a Sign?

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Can you find the Canada Goose in the shot above? I’ll wait until you find it. Yes, there. The speck, bottom right. Hold that thought.

It’s Thursday, 1514 consecutive (almost) days on this morning daybreak walk at Cove Island Park. Like in a row.

I step into the park. It’s dark.

I walk.

I’ve had a flurry of chatter around me about Signs.

They see signs in the spotting of Cardinals, Blue Jays, Feathers, Hearts, Sparrows, Robins, and even Moths.

Don’t you see it DK? There!

I’ve grown up. (A little.) I stare quietly, body language not giving anything up, offering a look of contemplation. The thought process having evolved from “are you kidding me, you don’t really believe that, do you? aka George Carlin style: Religion: A Bullshit Story.

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Walking. With a very little blow.

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1,488 consecutive (almost) days that I’ve been on this daybreak walk at Cove Island Park. 12 days from 1,500 — more than four years of this Thing.

“And life slips by like a field mouse
Not shaking the grass.” – Ezra Pound

But before I leave the house, I flip through the morning papers. I know better, I do. But can’t seem to resist the rubbernecking. Ukraine. Israel. Gaza. Washington cesspool. China. Russia. North Korea. All feels dark and getting darker – the world’s shadows deepen.

“I could feel hope traveling backward to find us,
to whisper into our chests,
There will be music for you one day.” — Andrea Gibson

Weather app reads 59° F (?), but there’s a brisk wind from the North. Am I in Greenland? Glad I wore a jacket, I zip up.

I walk.

4:30 am. Wildlife is up. Smallest birds with the loudest voices break the silence of early morning. 4 other insomniacs are out sharing this twilight hour, each lost in their own quiet rhythm.

“Birdsong, wind, and waves. 
It requires nothing more than to meet noise with stillness 
and not commentary.” – Martin Laird

I walk.

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Help Her. Now.

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In case you missed the back story about this Sad Sack, you can read about her hopeless case here: “Walking. All Self-Doubt…Gone” and here: “Epilogue: All Doubts Gone.”

Yep, there are those that just don’t get it.

This time she’s wrestling a massive, misshapen piece of driftwood, easily over 100 pounds, thrown onto the rocks during our last storm. She’s determined to haul it up the steep, slippery embankment, over the slick mossy boulders and up and over the break wall.

Why? That’s the question other early morning walkers at Cove Island Park seem to be asking as they pass by, shooting me the “Is she okay?” look. I nod knowingly. This is her therapy, the best we can do here is maintenance, as the damage is irreparable.

Did she ask for help? You bet. I offered to call 911 the moment she took a tumble.

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