Long day yesterday. Got home from work about mid-afternoon, took a shower, then went to bed. Doing that makes such a hash of a sleep schedule, though. There ought to be a better way.
Wore my boots today – the path was bound to be greasy again, with more rain moving through the area. As soon as I started to walk, I realized my mistake; since my boots are deliberately oversized to allow for two or three pairs of socks in the winter, they’re a bit loose otherwise. As soon as my legs started moving against the sides of the boots, my socks started sliding down. By the time I’d reached the base of the first hill on the regular trail, I’d had to pause twice to pull the boots off and the socks up.
And then there’s the feeling of sloppy socks sliding down, and getting bunched under your feet, all wrinkly and uneven and putting strange pressures where there shouldn’t be. Ugh.
Listening to the catbirds meowing while I was walking up. I suspect that slim grey bird from a couple of weeks ago, that I never got a picture of, was a catbird. And of course there were cardinals and robins.
Ivan was making noises about accompanying me one day this weekend. Just to get himself out the house, mostly. I’m happy to share the walk, of course, but his recovery isn’t really very far along, so I’d have to make sure I make time enough to compensate. He said, “No, I wouldn’t walk the trail, I’d just hang out in the truck and maybe take some pictures from the foot of the Bluff.”
He still doesn’t really get it, despite being a photography enthusiast himself. Of course, nobody really does, not even when I explain it. A buddy of mine, Paul, asks what I could possibly blog about every day: “I went up, I walked the hill, I took pictures, the end.” As if there’s nothing different from one day to the next.
That kind of dismissiveness can be really disheartening.
But it won’t stop me. Not even sloppy socks can stop me.