We have a trail adjacent to the apartments where we live.
I’ve walked it in snow, cloud, sun and…
there is something about walking in the rain that is so very English!
I actually took an umbrella, my father’s city gent one from his London days as a civil servant, and the blinkering of peripheral vision and patter of raindrops above transported me to Beckenham Place Park where we spent a blissy year two years ago.
On the trail here in Garland there are beautiful and curious sights.
The obvious studies in nature, I had no idea trout lilies were so abundant and pink!
I’d seen the odd one before hidden among the undergrowth but this trail overflows with them
rather like the bluebells in the dells of the wooded parks in England.
I hardly glance at the hollow tree I’ve passed countless times but eventually do more than just nod, this dead tree begs to be photographed before it falls,
and joins the piles of brush littering the land through which the concrete trail braves its way uphill and down dale.
This time of year I catch blossom on some of the trees,
that quickly turns to bud-fresh green filling the park with delicate, unfurling leaves.
There are brightly colored flies in electric blue and green, too fast to photograph with my valiant iPhone.
I looked them up and they are called filth flies. An ugly a name for these brilliant insects! In my mind’s eye I see a very large one beating itself up on the window panes of my youth. Blue-bottles we call them on my fair isle.
A walk wouldn’t be complete without the people I smile at, there are dog walkers, those with giant schnauzers, great danes and labs. Those with Westies and unknown mixes.
Yesterday a large bulldog wandered past, panting, dragging his owner behind, longing to greet me but throttled by his collar. His mistress on the phone lagging behind.
I passed this trio three times on my hour walk and went from nodding terms to waves to,
“Hello again!” as both bulldog and human missed the pleasure of the verbal company of their third member, still on her mobile.
I smell the heady scent of Eau Savage as I pass a walker so lost in his ear buds he doesn’t see me until he feels my breeze brush his arm along the narrow tangental path I’ve taken through the woods.
He looks up, startled, a cigarette gathering ash as it hangs from the side of his mouth.
I count stubs along the way, a dozen that he’s chain smoked, undoing any good his lungs are deriving from the exercise.
Children race each other and run down the steep slopes to the creek, looking for stones, screaming, chasing.
Their parents, unsure of snakes, swallow their warnings, reluctant to spoil the fun.
One man stops me on a particularly frigid day when the creek runs wild with ice, and snow crunches underfoot,
“Did you pass a runner as you were walking this way?”
“No, I saw no-one.”
“Well,” he says and launches into a far fetched story that has me regarding him closely to ascertain whether he is older than he appears at first glance.
“I walked along this path, as you are, and reached the top and looked over the creek for a moment then started my way back and caught sight of a jogger coming towards me. He was stark naked…” he stops for my reaction and I shake my head.
“…wearing absolutely nothing but his running shoes and a cap and he scarpered through the woods before I could call the police.”
“No, I didn’t see anyone,” I am a little disappointed to have missed this curious spectacle.
When I relay the story later to Daughts she says,
“Haha, you would have taken a picture of his retreating bum wouldn’t you Mum?”
Haha, yes I would!
A streaker on an icey day!
What fun!
I walk to the carpark at the end of the way and see cars, mostly empty.
On days I’ve encountered no-one I wonder, where are the drivers? I decide not to go looking.
I enjoy the busy afternoons when runners and roller skaters, strollers and couples, smokers and squirrels, mountain lions, streakers and birds share the path with me seen and unseen.
I also enjoy the solitary hour when birdsong and God’s voice are my only companions.
What a way to pray!
Well hello there! My name is Vivienne McNeny.
I am an empty nester exploring life as a Boomer…you could say I'm happily Boomering along!
As a homeschooling Mum I have finally quit the job of role model and mentor to my four children. I do what I want to do, eat when I feel like it, enjoy life with my blue eyed cowboy and clean my house once a month or so whether it needs it or not!
In true English form I write about the emergence of my true identity now that I can no longer hide behind my children as their Mum.
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