A Winter’s Walk

I wrote this entire essay in my mind this morning, December 23. I am moved by this date. I like the numbers and the way they play off of one another. Numbers create in me feelings, and this one is joy.

It is dark when Ivy and I set out just past 6:30 am. I wear a knit headband and scarf; a vest and jacket; and ski gloves. She wears her pink and gray harness and “flower power” leash. She stops on the stoop outside the front door and looks around. A neighbor down the street is arriving home after his night shift.

We descend the three steps to the sidewalk, the slate, and the street. There is little on our walk that is smooth—an homage to the age of the town and the many cars that travel down our road from Brandywine Boulevard to the nearby entrance of I-495. Only one car passes us today, and I wave a hello both to be friendly and to be sure the driver sees us, despite the reflector lights prominently displayed on my arm and Ivy’s harness.

Ivy lunges at a crab apple, while I divert her to the middle of the road. It’s not an avoidance tactic that often works. I let her stop and sniff at the top of the hill where we make a left from our street onto the Boulevard. On this larger, more travelled road, I notice Christmas lights—some which have been up since the day after Thanksgiving, and others that were put up last night. One home continues to add to its display so that each morning it is a gift I discover.

I stop at each intersection to notice the reddening sky to the east; the skeleton of trees enhances the drama. The moon is a few days past full, and in the western sky, greets the approaching sun. I marvel at the intensity of what is able to be seen in the dark, and that which loses its flavor in the light.

At the corner of Lore Avenue sets my favorite home in the neighborhood. It is a majestic, stone home with a fire pit and sitting area around back. It is surrounded by large fir trees and a small evergreen which grows near the sidewalk. Last year the owners had placed a red Christmas ornament on it, reminding me of the one on Charlie Brown’s Christmas tree. The tree is larger this year, and that same ornament looks significantly smaller.

The sanitation workers are out today and we greet each other with a wave. Sometimes the bus drivers will honk their horns if they see me. I haven’t seen Deb much since her daughter moved out and took the dog with her; the man with the knee brace who walked every morning has not been around for months and I worry that maybe he is sick or injured. The man with the roses got a new Jeep, and the family with the Labradoodle struggles to manage the big, fluffy puppy.

I am able to see more of the river since the trees dropped their leaves. The Delaware Memorial Bridge is in plain sight despite the smoke stacks spewing white fog into the cold morning air. Its blinking lights alert ships beneath and planes above. On the rivers banks I can see New Jersey.

Ivy stops to sniff and I get ready with my green bag. We pass Tom’s house—the one with the fig trees. I notice newspapers thrown on the sidewalk, far short of the front doors. Some mornings I carry them the rest of the way to the stoops.

When I see something notable, I stop and share the moment with Ivy. She knows now that I will not pass the rose bush without smelling the roses, and sometimes even kissing them. When I do, I think of the fictional character, Lucy Barton, who was chided by her husband when he caught her kissing flowers in a vase on their kitchen table. Like Lucy Barton, I am not ashamed.

As we head toward home, the Christmas lights dim, the traffic increases, and the sun rises above the tree line. I begin to think of what lies ahead on this day, those things I wish to accomplish. But before that, I look with gratitude at the height of the trees, the call of the hawk, and even the bite of the wind against my cheeks. I am reminded of the opportunity I have to walk freely, to witness boldly, and to join communally with those around me. I am grateful to know I am not alone.

Author’s Note: I originally wrote “Haines” instead of “Lore” Avenue. The correction has been made.