Birds of a Feather (LBE)

Yesterday while walking I pondered a comment made by Tori about her wanting to come along for a walk to experience it and my first thought as I slowly strolled down the trail was - I couldn't do this if I were blind... ...closing my eyes so I couldn't see as to test what it would be like - and I mentally reared like a bucking bronco and backed away from the terror the thought brought me...

...after walking a little further on, my thoughts calmed down a bit, and once again returned to her comment... and I thought to myself, how could I share this walk with her? What would it be like, if she was here... can I focus on what she might hear, smell, feel, and taste and exclude what I see?

It was difficult to put such a walk to words - and I'm sure the words are sorely inadequate.

I started the walk mid-morning - the day was not yet warm but as the sun climbed in the sky, it was to get warmer and warmer, but it would never get unpleasantly so - especially as there was a cooling breeze blowing in a gentle swirl through the green leaves in the trees.

I walked a bit stiffly at first, my legs still fatigued from the previous day - the red gravel underfoot was rather dusty and I kicked it up a little, my boots sounding a soft "crunch, crunch, crunch" as we walked along. The trail rises slightly to an old railroad bridge and as we walked over the Perkiomen Creek below, we can hear the water tumbling over the dam near the old mill as well as the white chin strap ducks honking to each other as they paddle facing upstream - but paddling only going fast enough to keep stationary in the current.

The scent of the water as it hitches a ride in the breeze smells of algae and foam. The path on the bridge is covered with wooden planks so the "crunching" suddenly shifts into a dull "plunking" sound as we cross it. Once off the bridge, the "crunch, crunch, crunch" returns, occasionally mixed in with a dragging scrape as I carelessly do not lift my foot high enough to clear a small mound of gravel. The sun's heat makes the gravel dust smell earthy and flinty, but not at all unpleasant.

Soon, my muscles limber up and my feet find their happy rhythm, and I fall into a pace that I can maintain for hours on end. "Crunch, crunch, crunch".

We first encounter a couple Mourning Doves, taking a dust bath, cooing loudly as they "splash" in the dust and then a couple people walking by the other way, "crunchety crunchety crunch-crunch" say "Good morning" as I smile to them and wave hello. Many will return my hello, but only one in perhaps ten people will smile back at me, but I figure at that rate, eleven smiles have been released into the world, so it's a happier place regardless.

Now and then, there is a whirling whiz, sometimes accompanied by a soft, "mind your left" as a person on a bicycle goes by us on the left side of the trail. As we steadily "crunch, crunch, crunch" onwards, the day warms up and the sun when peeking through the branches of the trees catches our faces, it feels warm and comforting - and then we enter the shade and the air feels so cool and refreshing - the warming then cooling pattern will continue throughout our walk... the sun coming around to our shoulders and backs when we turn and head back to where we started later on in the walk.

The scent will shift too; the warm sun brings out the flinty dust while the shade contains the loamy smell of the undergrowth. The flowers are no longer as abundant, but the aroma of the honeysuckle and the wild blackberries still lingers in the air. Here and there, the fungus growing on the fallen decaying trees add their pungent aroma to the breeze.

At infrequent intervals, the passing walker will have a dog on leash, and we hear the snuffling of an English Bulldog and then the quick pant of the Shetland Collie. "Crunch, crunch, crunch," we continue on, and we hear the shrill cry of the Blue Jay, "Jaaaaaaaaay! Jaaaaaaay!" as it flutters overhead and drops a feather onto the path before us. I pick the feather up, it is a silky soft mesh of fibers... and I carefully hand it to you to feel as I tell you it has black and blue bars of color on one side, and is mostly a dark gray on the other all topped with a bright white tip.

Again there is a quick whirling whiz... and this time is a couple older women on bikes, wearing perfume - and they leave a trail of scent behind them - not at all unpleasant but somewhat at odds with our surroundings.

Nearing the halfway point of our walk, we come to an old farmhouse and we hear a soft but powerful "woof" from a old yellow Labrador lying in the shade of the porch. He gets to his feet and ambles down to the fence at the side of the trail, his tail wagging slowly as if to say, "Hello my old friend". He sticks his head between the railings of the fence and pants quietly as I rub his ears and head. I let you pet him while I dig a milkbone that I brought just for him, just in case I saw him, out from my pocket.

I give you the milkbone so you can give the yellow beast his treat. He slobbers slightly, but the contented happiness on his face echos in his soft whimper as he gently nips the milkbone from your fingers is worth pulling the handkerchief from my pocket to wipe our hands off with. He eats it slowly, and gives us another soft "woof" as if to say, "thank you!" as we turn and start to walk back to where we began our walk.

You hear the crunching under my feet suddenly become a quiet padding, as the sound of my camera being turned on reaches your ear. You then become aware of the chittering sounds of a couple squirrels fighting over a walnut - you hear my camera shutter ratchet and the soft poof as the squirrel vanish into thin air (you can almost smell the magic disappearing smoke they used) followed by my imprecations and soft cursing... you catch me say something like "damn, I got another empty branch picture." You then hear me sigh, and once more you hear the crunching coming from my boots.

This time by, at the swimming hole, there is a man tossing sticks for a dog to fetch far out into the water, you hear the delighted yelp and the splash as the dog goes and brings the stick back, and when it reaches the side of the creek near the trail, he shakes the cold water from himself, spraying us in cold water. Shortly after we leave the playing dog behind, we startle a couple mallard ducks that had been resting against the creek bank close to the trail, they give a muttered "wack wack wack" as they paddle into the middle of the stream, as if to reproach us for disturbing their slumber.

Now thirsty from the walk, I pull from my day bag a couple bottles of chilled clear clean water - as the first sip enters our mouths we both moan in delight, for a few short moments, the cold water will taste like the finest drink on earth.

Soon the rhythmic crunching under our feet is all we hear once more until we get away from the gravel and onto the trail that is mostly packed dirt. As the crunching fades away, we hear the crickets, grasshoppers, and frogs creating a faint hum beneath the canopy of the trees. Even the wind whispers softly here, and the faint hum of the bees and dragonflies can be heard - until our walk brings us back to the old railroad bridge where the hum of the insects is replaced by the regular throb of an airplane, high overhead, leaving a white contrail behind it as it heads westward to places unknown.

The car doors creak open and as we get in you hear the soft groan of contentment as the soft seat takes the load off my tired legs and feet - and then the sound of the car air conditioning as the warm sweat of the walk is gently washed away in a cooling drying breeze.