Saturday Evening Stroll

On Saturday evening, Sam and I went on a walk at the local swimming area. Aside from a couple of fishermen, the place was deserted - not unusual for this time of day; not unusual for this time of year.

We walked in the low evening sunshine, through the long shadows and damp grass, passing the now quiet playground where, many years ago, Sam, and years earlier, his siblings, used to play. I glanced over at the empty swings and structures as we continued on - ignoring the echos of the past; ignoring how lonely and unnatural a place such as this looks without little kids, especially when it's bathed in golden light from the soon to be setting sun.

We walked the perimeter of the south field, finally turning back along the river's edge, passing the fishermen, who by now were standing knee-deep in the receding waters.

Crossing the footbridge, we followed the wooded edge of northern field, stopping occasionally along the way to look at the unfolding ferns and a solitary flower. And I wondered aloud how the flower got to this place, and why it chose to bloom in this particular spot - far away, it seemed, from any others.

At the end of the field, before the turn, we came upon a break in the woods, and we decided to follow a path we had never seen before. The path wove through the still blooming forest, branching off in several directions along the way.

We stayed with the path which followed the river and we walked mostly in silence with nothing but the sound of the river on one side, and on the other, somewhere high up in the trees, we could hear the tapping of a distant, unseen woodpecker.

Eventually, we reached a small hill. We climbed to the top and surveyed our surroundings - before deciding it was time to head back - back through the forest, back through the field. 

I wonder about connections to places like these - and to places where we live. I wonder about what we leave behind when we leave. Do we leave a part of ourselves? And what do we take along with us? Are we connected to our surroundings in more ways than we know? When we walk through familiar fields, or past empty playgrounds, are the feelings we feel nothing more than wisps of memories - or are we connecting with a part of ourselves which exists in these places, whether we revisit them or not?  

By the time we crossed the footbridge, the fishermen were gone. Sam and I headed back to the car, once again in silence - and together, we headed back home - he lost in his thoughts, and me lost in mine.