Y’all, I could not stand that neither the dog nor I were in good enough shape to walk to the grade school and back. I mean, if I had kids, I would think nothing of letting them walk to school from here (except that there are no sidewalks along Clarksville Pike, but if they cut through back yards over to Lloyd…) and neither of us is in good enough shape to do it? Now, granted, I was in a really bad way with all the medical stuff going on and getting it straightened out has been no picnic and Wigglebottom had her knee surgery, but the doc says she’s ready for her regular life and I’m feeling ready for my regular life and so there’s just no excuse to let the fucking grade school be out of our walking range. Shoot.
So, today we got up and walked. Not to the school and back obviously, but to the bottom of the hill that did us in. Because, clearly, that’s the trick. We’ve got to be able to get up and down that hill twice. Walking to the bottom of it is no biggie. Getting up and down it is what’s going to do us two old out of shape broads in. So, we’ll work up to it.
But the reason that I’m holy shitting is that it’s [pause for disclaimer: my part of town sucks. It’s ugly. The people are rude. We’re all crammed in here like sardines. Um, it smells. Things don’t grow so we all have mud for lawns, tiny ugly lawns. And they pay children to come around and kick you. It sucks. Oh, and it’s expensive. And random plants electrocute you and bite your cats. Stay away! Or abandon all hope once you get here. I cry every night wishing we didn’t live here. You will too. Did I mention the constant gunfire on the weekends?] so damn beautiful here at dawn. Lloyd is up higher than we are and you look down and over the cow pasture and the whole sky is blue and pink and lavender and the clouds are all gray and yellow and then a huge black spot starts to shake in the pasture and there’s this noise like a million whispers and the spot lifts out of the tall grass and hundreds of birds fly right over your head. And there are so many crows calling to each other that you strain to see if you can see them because it sounds like there must be twenty of them and you have never seen a murder of crows in person before, only single or in pairs or maybe threes.
It’s just unbelievable. I want to be out in it all the time.
Oooo, and the best part? It’s cold enough here right now that the grass crunches beneath your feet so that just you and the dog sound like an army.