Morning Walk

     I take a walk at least four mornings a week, sometimes more. I walk at six am for about forty five minutes, and tend to walk fast enough to generate some sweat and heat. Most mornings I walk with my friend, Bob, and we talk. Other mornings I'm alone with my thoughts, what some would say is dangerous company, indeed.
     Walking in the summer I usually get the full-on sunrise and that's a rich time for thinking and appreciating the great world we're given to experience. The light that builds on such mornings on the South Fork of Long Island is famous in art circles; the surrounding ocean and other waters act like reflective mirrors of the sun, making the quality of the air feel rare, even magical. Add the sometimes loud and fierce colors of sunrise and it's a potent sight for artists and appreciators alike.,
     But these days, in the dark, it's different. I wear a runner's reflective vest for safety, and also carry a small, bright flashlight whose light swings as I walk. I pass country fields, an old potato barn, and some newer homes in what used to be potato fields. I walk fast enough to catch the sight of the 6:18 train hurtling across a big farm field, the coaches' interior lights sparkling impressively in the dark morning.
     This morning, right after the train passed and I turned around for home, I was deep in some random thought and got startled by a noise. First thought, deer. Second thought, dog. Neither thought was welcome, and I was, frankly, anxious.
     It turned out to be a neighbor out walking a very small dog in the dark. I laughed and so did the neighbor when I told him what I first thought. "This one," he said, meaning the dog, "would probably lick you to death!"
     I walked on down the road grateful and relieved and a little embarrassed inside at being spooked so easily. As I calmed down, a few things occurred to me. It was nice to meet the neighbor and his dog out walking like I was. Out of the dark came a connection, however brief, that felt welcome. And that thought and feeling led to some gratitude for a body that can move,
and some eyes, ears and skin for taking the morning in. Even when I feel alone, and in the dark, life surprises me.