Walking

Wind blows through the treetops so they bend and sway, slowly, as if underwater. It breathes out, lips pursed, blowing a whoosh of air above me so the trees swish and rush. The surface of the pond moves as if a current runs through it. Ripples race across its skin. Canada geese are blown along with the rippling, their feathered egg bodies and black curved necks racing like boats in a regatta.

The air is chilly; my only exposed skin is on my hands and face. I wear a jacket, baseball cap, and long pants to cover everything else. Sound and touch are my active senses right now — cold skin, neck hairs tickling in the wind, ears full of the rushing of leaves papering against each other, the forlorn sound of a goose honk, the twitter of birds in the trees behind and above me. A duck just waddled under the round stone table I’m writing on.

The sun has come out from a cloud and shines dappled buttery light on my page. My hand casts a strong shadow from the light that shines behind. The light feels like warm honey on my back. A male mallard sits in a spot of sunlight under the canopy of the giant oak above us both. Its emerald head is tucked under its wing. Its feathers flutter in the wind.

A big gust is blowing through now. The shadows of the tree’s leaves race across the table, my pages fly up, my body chills. Wind hisses across my ears. Across the pond, weeping willow tendrils swing like heavy green hair that almost sweeps the water.

Green surrounds me. Green grass in this glade. Green trees above me. Green moss on the low stone wall behind. Willows, oaks, azaleas, ivy, magnolias, dogwoods. A bike bell dings. The sky is a clear blue against the emerald of the earth.

I am at the duck pond on campus. I loaded my backpack today with notebooks and a camera, water bottle and a package to ship, and I turned onto Glade Road when I emerged from the neighborhood instead of going straight down Meadowbrook Drive like I normally do. I walked to the post office to drop off my package. I walked to the botanical garden.

Walking is such a simple pleasure. It requires nothing — no jersey or special shoes, no fuel, no keys or helmet, no vehicle, no constructed facility like a pool. Yet it gives everything: fresh air, physicality, sunlight, wind, rain, leaves rustling, ducks waddling, Canada geese clustering in the corner of the pond the wind blew them all into. A feeling of being part of the world.