I don’t get out to walk much these days.
Or, I should say, that I walk 15 to 20 miles a day and so don’t get out to walk the neighborhood like I used to.
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The sun shone in an azure sky. While it was warm, fall was in the air. The season had stripped the few trees in the vast, 86-acre cemetery, part of Independence, KS’ park/cemetery/zoo complex. It was the kind of fall day we have all experienced, and the kind of day that will appear next year and the year after into eternity.
Leave a CommentEach day runs into the next. Life has become a series of episodes, everyone much like the other. I get up at 7:15, sit on the edge of the bed and wonder what this is all about.
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I’ve been dithering all day. For the first time in over six months, I’ve had two days off in a row. They come desperately needed. My route is over 17 miles and I walked that, plus, the last seven days, excepting Sunday. Each day was at least ten hours long, and a couple were over twelve.
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When I was a kid, all through to the sixth grade, I cried all the time. Helplessness and frustration drove me to tears. The condition became critical enough that my teacher, Miss Milazzo, sent me in for a serious talk with the enigmatic and scary Franciscan priest named Father Francis, who always dressed in black monk habit.
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