Ways of love

Ways of love. Sometimes when we’ve been married if not forever for a very long time we forget—but then remember.
We had a beautiful day on Saturday. I decided, partly because of the luscious day and partly because I was writing about it, to go down to the park on the Flint River and walk along the nature trail. I told Bob who was deep in a history book my plans—walk, groceries, see you later—put on my walking shoes and headed out about 4:30. (At 67, Bob is studying for his history Ph.D. comprehensive exams. Never too late!)
A lovely walk. The path, it’s more than a trail, stretches 3.2 miles (3.7 if you do a figure 8, the runner I’d interviewed told me) with several variations for the less hardy. I’m looking for 2 miles. I studied the map and found if I came in at the parking at the midpoint, I could take a perfect walk. I headed down the path kicking pine straw (that’s what we call it in South Georgia) and scaring squirrels by stomping on acorns. I encountered a few walkers, one runner and a fisherman by the pond, otherwise the world was mine.
I found the middle parking lot. Looked like it was right in the park where the kids play summer ball. I kept walking ‘til I figured I’d done my 2 miles. When I got back to the car, I chatted with the runner a few minutes. He (in shorts) didn’t like the wind in the 40 plus temperature. I (in a sweatshirt, hat and gloves) told him if he’d grown up in the Texas Panhandle, he’d love the wind.
“I like trees,” he replied. “They break the wind.”
I hopped in the car and went to find the parking lot and the trail. I couldn’t. I found a couple of parking lots, some baseball fields—no entrance to the trail. I walked all the way around the ballpark hunting. I was in the wrong place. But I’d never been down here, or not in a long time, so I went by and saw the new animal shelter and the water treatment plant. Must have taken longer than I thought.
My Wal-Mart list stretched on. Business cards for the Story Circle conference, vitamins, a notebook of a very special size and food for a week.
It was nearing 7 and dark when I shoved the last bag into the back of the Jeep parked on the edge of the W-M parking lot. I heard a car, I looked up. Bob’s Sebring convertible was nose-to-nose with the Jeep. He hopped out.
“Looking for me?”
“It’s dark; you’ve been gone a long time.”
“You going in?” A silly question. I led the way home.
Bob brought in more than Wal-Mart bags. He had the big torch.
“The flashlight was for your body—down on that trail. I didn’t even know where you were! If you hadn’t been at Wal-Mart, I was going to hunt.”
Words of love in our sixties! Next time, I’ll take the cell phone.

Here's a picture of the view out my kitchen door. Georgia is lovely. Next time, I'll take the camera to the nature walk.