Wakamow

We walk trails—both new and familiar—wandering in mostly silence, being present in this place.

It is hot and I wish I had brought my water bottle stead of leaving it in the car. We stop to rest on a weathered wooden bench—or rather, I do. He could walk for hours without feeling winded, but makes allowance for his non-hiking spouse, then encourages me to carry on.

We stumble across a clearing where there are bird feeders. I have wondered where this place is an am delighted we found it. We sit and watch a cheeky squirrel before carrying on.

Birds put on a choral show that’s unparalleled anywhere I’ve been. I remember it from last summer when we wandered here and decided to return.

I push my hat back, letting it fall on my shoulders. The air on my sweaty head feels good. I must be a sight. No matter.

Later, back home, he heads to his office and I settle into my favourite deck chair with a book. We each catch a few winks before Makiya returns home, day turns to evening, and Sunday gently unwinds.