What the Cat Knows

One of the gifts of walking is the pace itself. The act of moving slowly allows for time to see much more than is ever possible from the seat of a car. Walking is good for our bodies but the exercise in looking is equally as good for our spirits.

The road I walk along always has something interesting waiting for me. In the past I've come across fawns, and fox and once years ago, a baby bear. But I've seen sand hill cranes, hawks, vultures and herons flying above me; countless other birds in the trees, nests, turtles slowly, slowly crossing, black snakes and all sorts of fascinating, but nameless to me, insects. But the favorite part of my walk is noticing what is growing. This was particularly true this weekend, when I rounded the corner to start my climb up 'the big hill' and walked into the subtle fragrance of sweet shrub. A rangey plant of southern woods, it has long branching arms and pointed leaves that in spring produce a spiky petaled burgundy flower with a dense, spicy smell. When I was growing up in the city, our suburban house had a large backyard, part of which dropped off and went on towards a creek. Even there in those woods, we had sweet shrub. My memories of playing fort or house down by the creek are woven through with its perfume. It was such a little thing-walking along and suddenly smelling a familiar shrub—yet it held the power to awaken so much. Like our favorite cat lying in the sun on the forgotten Sunday newspaper at our feet, who stretches its long silky body towards us hoping we will come and rub it, the trees and fields and yards around us carry the same invitation. It is the gift that can be opened every day that can rest our eyes and hearts and perhaps walk out not only the kinks in our bodies but in our lives. Don't forget.