Sunday, September 19, 2010

access point

They're building a new boardwalk in my woods. I saw it today when I was out with the dog.

It's only partway done, a half-finished pier raised up over dirt and fallen leaves and downed branches and a trickle of a stream. Neon flags mark where it will join up with the main path.

I walked past those flags, through the rough-cleared undergrowth, to take a look at their work. I could see the condos through the clearing -- this boardwalk will pipe those residents right in. Easy access.

I about-faced and bounded crazily back through the brambles, all energy all of the sudden. Intoxicated by the scent of damp fallen leaves? Or maybe just motivated by reality -- I'd been gone longer than I said.

Back on the main path, I kept jogging. I don't know why -- I was wearing jeans, who runs in jeans? But I wanted to hear my heart in my ears.

They were all out today, the runners in their short sleek shorts and wind jackets, watches on their arms. I slowed to a walk every time I saw one. Just a girl on a walk with her dog. But once they were out of ear shot I picked up the pace again, smiling to myself like I was getting away with something. Like I had a secret.

But I don't. I really don't. I've got nothing to report except that the season is changing and I can feel it in my blood and as the days grow shorter I think a window is opening somewhere and the brisk air will sting my eyes as I stick my head out and shout my demands to the universe.

I want to be piped in.