Morning Walk

 

"Do you want company?"  I ask my husband Rick as he is about to take Sherlock for his early morning walk: usually  (99.9%) of the time, I stay in bed reading, sipping from my bowl of tea and nibbling a cookie. I try not to snuggle to rub it in I'm in bed and he's not.

He welcomes me. 

The weather is sweater-wearing cool.

Sherlock has various routes, Rick tells me. We let the dog select our path.

The dog trots down the street, leaving his p-messages on many bushes. Some large trees have been cut down, their centers hollowed out. The colors are various shades of brown.

If we turn around we can see the Alps. It is clear enough to see there is still Clorox white snow on Mont Blanc against the blue sky.

Today we take a left, walk past hedges twice my height hiding large homes on one side.

There is a rose bush sticking thru one hedge, the petals not solid pink but variations. A closer look and I see darker and lighter shades as if drawn on each rose with a thin, thin brush.

The other side of the road has a large field. I do not know if it is filled with wheat or future hay. It is the color beige, a beige with lots of white added to its palette.

We enter the forest at the end of the road. There is a sign asking dog walkers to keep dogs on a leash because this is the season where deer are delivering their fawns and they don't need to be disturbed.

It smells of my childhood woods that surrounded my house.

A narrow wooden bridge spans what might be a creek after a rain. Today it is dry.

There are so many places for more p-messages. 

We head home. On the way we chat with a man and his dachshund, who wants to play with Sherlock. We exchange the usual wishes for a pleasant Sunday.

Sherlock knows the back entrance to our garden. The robot lawn mower has done its job and has parked itself in its small wooden garage just big enough to protect if from the rain..

Rick cooks his special Sunday breakfast making the morning so very special with its combination of small sights, sounds, smells.