Yesterday I took a slightly chilly, fairly enjoyable, mid afternoon, mid winter walk.
I’d much rather ride my bike than walk but when it’s 30 degrees outside, the wind whipping past one’s face on a bike makes the experience a little less than ideal. And so I walked.
In Manteo, the main road (Hwy 64) bisects the north end of the island; it passes by a few restaurants and businesses and then when it gets near our neighborhood, the businesses give way to mostly residences and the scenery becomes rather lovely.
As I trundled merrily along the lovely bike path that runs parallel to the road, I made myself a new friend.
His name is, um, Horse.
Horse looked at me, put one hoof up on a board and started tapping it over and over. I’m not sure if that meant he was counting (like Mr. Ed) or if it was some sort of Horse Language that basically meant, “Hey there, Lady! You got any carrots for me?”
I think horses are incredibly magnificent, amazing, beautiful creatures but I was still not quite willing to go over and pat him on the nose. Or the forefront of his head. Or whatever that place is called that people are prone to pat. (Can’t you tell that I am incredibly educated on this subject?)
I just decided I should keep my distance since I didn’t know if my good friend, Horse, was of the nipping variety or not. And my plans for the day most certainly did not include any sort of Horse Nipping Encounters.
So I bid my new friend a cheerful good-bye and left him to ponder who the strange woman was with the silver box in her hand. (Can’t you tell that this animal is truly in Pondering Mode?)
After my meet-n-greet with Horse, I spotted Mister and Missus Cow. Or maybe it was Missus and Missus Cow. I’m not sure if Mister Cows are kept out in the same field as the Missus Cows, or if they hang out in a separate place specifically designated for Mister Cows. (Yes, another subject about which I am abysmally ignorant.)
But at any rate, there they were. Two cows (of indeterminate gender) who were nice enough to pose themselves beautifully between the tree, um, trunks? Limbs? Thingies? (Have we found yet another subject of which I am ignorant? Yes. It would appear so.)
As I continued along my way, I thought about the advice that fitness experts are wont to give concerning the necessity of swinging one’s arms vigorously while one is walking. Unfortunately, I was unable to perform that particular maneuver because I had to use one of my hands to hold the front of my coat closed. That particular coat appears to be one of my clothing items that has mysteriously shrunk (shrank? shrinked? shranked?) over the last year and now it can’t be buttoned. Which means I have to hold it closed when the arctic wind swoops in and threatens my very personhood. Which also means that I can’t swing my arms and burn up extra calories so that the coat will fit better.
Which seems like a pretty unfair deal, all in all.
I then thought that I would take a picture of these . . . um . . .twig thingies. I just think that twig thingies look especially lovely when framed against the sky. In fact, if I were ever to make this picture into a Big Framed Art Display to be hung in the Smithellaneous Section of the Smithsonian, that’s exactly what I would entitle it.
“A Trio of Twig Thingies. Against The Sky.”
Doesn’t that title just speak to you? No?
In this shot, I thought that the juxtapositioning of this barn-ish type building framed by the tree trunky thingies was rather attractive.
Then I came across this unusual looking contraption which unfortunately failed to allow itself to be neatly pigeon holed into any of my (woefully inadequate) descriptive phrases. And so I just stood and stared at it and pondered it, trying my utmost to look profound even as I pondered.
The word on the street seems to be that this is an old windmill that will be reconstructed on this site once the weather warms up.
I think it would be really great to live just up the street from a windmill. I mean, we already live less than a mile from Andy Griffith’s house. And we’re one block from a thrift store. To have a windmill in our neighborhood, too? Too cool.
Andy. Thrift Store. Windmill. Doesn’t get much better than that.
Heading back the way I came, I spotted Horse again. He proceeded to studiously ignore me since obviously a woman who carries a silver box instead of a bag of carrots is of absolutely no use to him. Or her. (Sorry. Didn’t take the time to peer at the pertinent parts.)
And then I was on the home stretch and gazing upon things which make me happy every time I see them, things that I never dreamed could exist in this magnitude just five minutes from the ocean.
Tall, tall trees! How wondrous is that?
By about that time, my mid afternoon, mid winter walk had made my cheeks red, my nose run, and my legs wobbly. So I headed myself toward home where I was greeted by this sweet sight: a little doggy patiently waiting for a certain Mom to sit down with him so that they could get going on some blog writing. You’ve never seen a more faithful co-writer in your life.
Which brings me, in closing, to a brief Snowy Report.
Snowy is doing so well that we can hardly get over it. He’s gained all his weight back, is eating like a champ, running around the house like a perky puppy, inviting us to wrestle with him, playing happily with his favorite chew toy and basically acting happier and healthier than we have seen him in a long, long time.
And that makes this mama heart very, very joyful. Plus ecstatic.