Walknotes

Monday

I watch a man walk towards me with his dog. He’s old, but the dog is not. Every few steps they stop for the dog to sniff at the undergrowth. I smile and say: “That’s gonna be a long walk…” and the man’s face brightens under his cloth cap. “Tell me about it, she’s a nightmare! As soon as she sees someone coming, she stops.” I have a hunch that he’s the one who stops for people – the dog is doing just fine in the undergrowth. I say it’s a beautiful day and he says: “Spring is coming! And…” and we stop for a proper chat.

It really is a beautiful day. I started in the wood, phone held out like a divining rod. All the birds were singing, although according to the Merlin app, nothing exotic: a song thrush; a blackbird; a robin; a greater spotted woodpecker. Crows in the distance like a lazy summer soundtrack. 

I told myself that despite the wellies it would be foolish to take the path between the fields and then I took it anyway. The light was so beautiful and all I wanted was to walk towards the sun. The path was waterlogged from the weekend’s rain so I sank deep into the puddles. 

—

At 5:10pm I’m on a work call when I see a message pop up via a group chat- “@D – still light at 5pm – milestone!”
He’s right! We used to work together, and it’s hard to know which made me happier, the message or the fact he thought to send it.

Tuesday

A man on the bus swaps seats so he can video Tower Bridge as we cross the Thames. I like it when people do this. A reminder that the city is beautiful. 

In the card shop at London Bridge a woman buys three heart-shaped helium balloons. She shouts aggressively at the assistant because she wants three carrier bags but doesn’t want to pay for them. She scares him so much that he only charges her for one but she’s too angry to notice. He passes her two perfect bags and the third is crumpled – I think it’s an old one, because he’s realised he may get in trouble for the missing money. She complains and shouts that she’s paid for the privilege of an uncrumpled bag. While he tries to explain that she hasn’t, two heart-shaped balloons bob gently in their bags and one roams free.

Thursday

On the roof of the newsagents an angry crow balances awkwardly on an aerial and rebukes the starling opposite. A magpie glides to a halt beside its partner and as I walk past the butcher’s shop the butcher whacks something on the counter with a wooden mallet. It’s hot and I’m wearing the wrong coat so I get the bus. It’s a rookie mistake because the fastest moving thing is now the look of disappointment which travels from side-eye to side-eye while we wait at the roadworks. As time seeps trough static tyres we all miss the train.

It’s gone midnight when I get home. I walked back behind a fox, which ducked in and out of every garden.

Friday

All the miniature iris are out! Most of the crocus too. The sun has been shining over the last few days which is easy to forget from your desk. 

It’s 11:37am when I walk through the park and there’s a flock of seagulls above. I look up to see their white bellies against a blue sky and realise we’re almost at blossom-against-blue-sky season – where everyone takes the same hopeful shot and offers it like proof we’ve made it through winter. I cannot wait.

On the bus an old man slides to the right, to make space for me. He turns and says “I made space to accommodate you!” And he smiles so much his eyes wrinkle into thin crescents. It’s so precise a statement it takes me a beat to process it, so I start with a smile and follow up with a hearty thank you when it clicks. We both bask in the moment. When I get off the bus later, we leave with cheerful goodbyes.