It's been an astoundingly beautiful autumn week on the East Coast. Clear and warm, nearly cloudless skies and barely a breeze. Perfect weather for walking!
On this particular day I head west but take a minute to veer off into the park just before I hit the one mile mark. A boy is fishing with his grandfather although the river is so low, I can't imagine there are any fish near the river's edge where he's dangling his line. Climbing down the bank, I find myself standing on the rocky riverbed, usually a foot or two under water. It's a different perspective and feels odd knowing the water would ordinarily be over my knees here. It's almost like a beach and I think I'd like to return with a book and a chair and just relax in this quiet, hidden place that not very many people take the time to notice. I almost never venture into this part of the park although it's very pretty here. It's not on the way to anywhere ... and I guess that's a kind of metaphor ... mostly we stay on a path to somewhere. But sometimes it's good to just pause for a moment in a spot that isn't anywhere in particular--a spot where we can just acknowledge knowing that it's there, there to be enjoyed and appreciated.
But the point of these walks is to keep going and to keep a pretty fast pace at that. So I get back on the road and head over to Cedar Lake. I've started out early enough on this day and there's still plenty of sunlight and the sky is a brilliant blue. The leaves have not yet reached their peak although there are plenty that have already fallen, crunching beneath my feet. Cedar Lake is a natural lake whereas the other lake, Indian Lake, where I also put in a lot of miles is man-made. You can't tell this difference unless Indian Lake has been lowered which it is at this time. Lowered purposely so that homeowners can repair their lakewalls and docks. The lowered lake reveals well rotted tree stumps that were cleared when the lake was created for the enjoyment and recreation of the City folks who summered "out in the country" once upon a time. The vivid red maple reflected in the glass-like waters of Cedar Lake really held my attention as I walked alongside the small sandy beach on this day.
Emerging from the Cedar Lake community I turn south on the road toward town again but as almost always, head into the nature reserve to spend a few quiet minutes in the woods. The setting sun is always brilliant back here where the pond flows into a natural wetland. Back in the spring, I'd seen a beaver swimming toward me in the water. I've looked for him almost every day that I've walked here since, but he's not surfaced again for me and it's possible he was just passing through; another creature on his way to somewhere else. But there are red-wing blackbirds, turtles and frogs, dragonflies galore, and my heron spent a lot of time back here in the summer. The swans haven't returned yet so I know that there is plenty of warm weather to be savored in the weeks ahead. They'll be back for a week or two just ahead of the cold on their way south. We must be the halfway point on their journey south. There are paths in the woods back here that very few people know about. I'm always alone while I make my way on footbridges and pick my way between roots and rocky outcroppings. It's still so green ... with sage-colored ferns and chartreuse mossy places that seem to invite you to sit quietly for a while. That's when I turn off the walking apps to rest and enjoy the stillness for five or ten minutes.
The edges of the pond were decorated with water lilies all summer long. They were the run-of-the-mill native species with smallish white flowers but were lovely nonetheless and provided resting places for dragonflies and frogs. My living Monet ... that's how I've always thought of this watery landscape. They've disappeared now for the season. Without the quilt of lily leaves, I'm able to notice the less showy yet delicate spikes of wetland grasses that border the shore of the pond and provide a frame for the ever-changing reflection. The rosy brick walls of the middle school across the street from the park always have a softer glow in the water than the hard angles and jutting wings of the building actually reveal once you reach street level again.
And it's at street level that I find myself once again with nearly four miles behind me at this point. The light is getting dimmer and the rush-hour traffic heavier as I make my way into town. My troublesome knee is feeling fantastic on this day and I'm actually picking up speed with each succeeding mile so I head over to McCarter Park to visit with the river some more. This is my favorite place, maybe in the world. My thinking place ... although I'm generally thinking my way through all these miles.
To finish off this day's workout before heading for home, I do a loop of downtown, down Bloomfield Avenue and then up Broadway. I resist window shopping so as not to slow my good time down. I never bring any cash on these walks, thank goodness, otherwise I'd be tempted to duck into that new beignet shop which I've been dying to try or into Sweet Expressions for a couple chocolate covered strawberries. The drama of the final streaks of setting sun make the point at Broadway and Bloomfield is enough of a treat.
One last pass up Broadway to the point at Bloomfield from the opposite direction. An almost-full moon is rising in the twilight sky. It's been nearly two hours. I'm still well off the times I was posting during the spring and summer. There's still no running. I've tried. But I can tell it would be completely foolish to allow that much pressure just now. I'm content to be out here, moving at the speed I'm able. Being forced to slow down is not such a bad thing. How else could I have seen the cenotaph pointing to the moon with the silvery showers of the tulip fountain shining in the foreground. It's a painting. It's a poem.
~~~
Playlist for Tuesday, October 15:
It's release day. At 12 AM this morning I was downloading the new Gavin DeGraw record, Make A Move, along with 75 or so of my twitter friends. We've been listening all day in between our working hours and other chores of the day. But I've had this luxurious 2-hour walk--enough time to hear the music nearly four times through.
Charity Miles for this walk: Walking for the Wounded Warrior Project at least through Veteran's Day. A 7-mile day (Map My Walk)
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