Today, as Summer continued to establish itself as the “real current season”, I set out on another early morning walk. It didn’t seem to be as hot and sticky as yesterday, but, perhaps that was because I pared down my paraphernalia like the pedometer and camera to make a lighter load before I left.

Once again I headed to the River, and, as the early morning sun filtered through the trees on Emmons Boulevard, I marveled at the many iridescent slug trails which criss-crossed the sidewalks as I strode along. They actually glistened and were very pretty, like someone took a skinny paintbrush and dipped it in glitter and decorated the cement. Probably, because I was studying the sidewalk, enthralled in those slug trails, suddenly out of nowhere, I heard a male voice politely calling out “coming up behind you”, so I raised my hand to acknowledge the message, then turned my head to wish him good morning as he passed. He had beads of sweat rolling down his face and was trying to swipe it away with his hand, unsuccessfully I think, as he was squinting as it burned his eyes. Soon, he was just a green dot in the distance – bright green shorts and dark shoes with fluorescent green circles on the soles which bobbed up and down with each step he took. So, suddenly I was alone again, doing a Sunday stroll, and the young man with the sinewy, tanned leg muscles was many blocks ahead of me.

It was so very peaceful, with just the occasional mourning dove’s plaintive cooing and occasional rat-a-tat-tat of a downy woodpecker. But the quiet was suddenly stilled by the tooting of a train horn and the cacophony of sounds at the train crossing gate as the arm lowered. I was still a block or so away as the train burst upon the scene, its rumbling on the rickety tracks disturbing the cooing cadence of the dove, and its counterparts who were either trilling or drilling. i.e. the songbirds and woodpecker, respectively all along the Boulevard.

I also saw a butterfly this morning. I missed seeing them because it has been coolish on my morning jaunts. Unbelievably, I didn’t see it hovering about my head or body until I glimpsed my shadow and I witnessed its graceful flight near my ear as I walked along. I was very still hoping it would alight on me, but it soon left in search of beautiful blossoms and the sweet nectar they contain. This sultry Sunday stroll garnered me another four miles toward my goal, and I had my own sweet nectar – a tall glass of strawberry milk when I returned home