“‘What day is it?'” Pooh asked. “‘It’s Today!’ Squealed Piglet. ‘My favorite day,’ Replied Pooh.”
And so it feels today. It is cloudy. The sky looks like a sheer lampshade covering a very bright light. Not dark, stormy, and thunderous, but luminous and promising. Such a relief from the sit-on-your-face heat and humidity we have experienced for the last week.
Not that I can complain. I live in a region of the country that is bathed in sunshine. There are many things which come more easily in sunshine. Getting out of your car with groceries, for example. Or hanging wet clothes out to dry. Or smiling. But some things are just natural companions of the clouds. Like writing. Sipping tea. Rest. Perhaps this is why Great Britain has produced so many acclaimed authors.
Something in me pulls, once again, to return to this blog. I sheepishly abandoned it while planning my wedding, getting married, honeymooning, and moving. Some people (Born Kick Butts, let’s call them, or “BKB” for short) have the capacity to both live life AND blog about it simultaneously. Me, a mere Japanese beetle buzzing about my window is enough to distract me from writing. I’ll call myself Well-Intentioned but Distractable, or “WIBD”. Can you relate? As soon as life gets going, I can’t write. Nothing, absolutely nothing, can motivate me to stop the frenetic pace and say something about it. Maybe the words stop coming clearly to my head, and I’m left with just a high-pitched whirring. Yes, that sounds about right.
But… it’s not that I don’t have thoughts. I think. In fact, lately I’ve been thinking about how pedestrian humans are. Why does walking feel so good? Just, walking. It’s not like running or rowing or some other laborious activity. It’s like we were made to… walk. I move more easily, my thoughts complete and connect continuously, as if the synovial fluid lubricating my joints has also worked its way into the words in my brain. Conversation flows more smoothly, and things you thought might be difficult to discuss become a “walk in the park.”
The only exception that I have found to disprove this theory is: toes. Why is such a sensitive appendage attached at the bottom of our body, susceptible to every little rock, crack, and crevice? Why does it hurt more than anything when we stub them? You would think, as such pedestrian creatures, that we would have sturdier toes. But, we don’t. Is it time for softer workouts, tougher toes?