The ridge was calling to me on Sunday morning, inviting me to ditch the basement workout in favour of taking the air, to stretch my legs instead on the pathway between the fancy houses to my left and the river valley underscoring the mountains on the horizon to my right. Steve, the ipod which normally accompanies me on these walks, didn't appear to be holding its charge. But the ridge was calling, not to be ignored, so I opted for silence and empty pockets.
That doesn't mean I was without music though. I have had John K Samson's infectious song, When I Write My Master's Thesis, stuck in my head for the past week. Turns out it's precisely the right beat at which to maintain a brisk pace.
It's quite surprising what you can hear when you are without ear buds. At one point, a large crow flew over me at low altitude. I could hear the flapping of its wings as it approached, before I even saw the bird itself. They sound powerful. Remind me never to get into a bitch-slapping incident with a crow.
The mountains on the horizon were surprisingly snow-capped, which is heartening, hopefully a sign that the eventual melt will provide us with sufficient water throughout the season. I watched them maintain their distance, the meandering creek in the valley below protecting me from their menace. I like the mountains from that distance; they just provide a picturesque backdrop to the prairie horizon. I don't need to get much closer than that.
When I had seen enough nature, I simply turned my head slightly to check out the houses across the road. They are occupied by some seriously house-proud folks. I doubt my weedy patchy lawn would be welcomed in the neighbourhood. I had to think of the Offspring when I realized that at least 3/4 of the houses that I passed had balconies. She loved balcony houses when she was wee. Ironically she now lives below grade.
Where do you walk?