And I,
I took the left one.
I don't know what difference it has made
But tomorrow
I take the right.
Walking along the paths in the area behind my flat today I was reminded of Robert Frost's poem "The Road Not Taken". I've always loved that poem, the idea that there are roads to choose from and it always makes a difference what one you choose...whatever one you choose. And the idea that you must choose now, because you're only heading on. But my choice today was a little different. Many of the paths I walk each day are paths I will be coming to again tomorrow, and the next day. For some reason I never like taking the same path. I don't think I've done the exact same walk more than perhaps once or twice in the 49 days of walking so far. And even then, if it was the same route, the weather made it a completely different experience. I like choosing the left road today, the right tomorrow. Today it was all lefts until I came back round to my starting point.
I woke up a little late today. Had been getting up early several mornings in a row for meetings and phone calls, and I took my time this morning. I was still in my jammies when the delivery man came by with a parcel for me to sign for, and he must have been able to tell from my bleary-eyed look that I wasn't yet on speaking terms with the day. "Did I get you out of your bed?" he asked, and although it was tempting to say no, I've been up for a while, or explain how late I'd been working the night before, or basically justify why I was just out of bed when he, the delivery man, had been up and at them since five or six a.m. most likely...the easiest (and most truthful) answer was simply, Yes. So I said yes, and he smiled. "Well, best go back to it then," he said in a friendly way. "It's cold out." And he gave me my parcel and headed out into that cold. I thought it was very kind. I always fear that someone who has been at work for several hours will condemn me for getting up later...but he spoke as though he was on my side. Wanted me to be warm and cosy. Of course by then I was well awake, so I 'got up' properly. Looked outside and saw things were looking cold and a bit misty.
Five minutes later I looked out and was humming "Past three o'clock...on a cold frosty mooooorning...past three o'clock...good morrow, masters all!" as I watched the fog come down and looked at the frosty housetops. I decided to go for my walk immediately, and I haven't enjoyed a walk as much in days. Everything was frost covered. Fenceposts, flowers, tree branches. The mist and fog made everything quiet, spooky. I would walk down a path and look behind me and not recognise where I just came from. The ice was frozen in funny, beautiful patterns. I came to my diverging of the paths and chose left, and passed a little mini-loch entirely frozen over. A man and his dog appeared, suddenly, out of the mist, passed me with a nod (well, the man nodded, and I think the dog would have done the same but he was busy with a very important water-bottle in his mouth) and then disappeared again into the mist. It was very cold - my phone tells me it's minus 4. There were mist crystals in my hair until it was almost wet. And yet strangely, from the walking, I was almost warm. My face was frozen cold but my body felt like it was snuggled warm in bed. (That's the wool jumper, I think.) So I walked and walked and walked and...tomorrow I take the right-hand turning.Walk on!
Walk length: 1 hour
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