When a Walk's not a Walk

Question: When is a walk not a walk?

Answer: Most of the time.

Joss and I purport to ‘walk’ twice a day. In truth, it’s a euphemistic term; almost always a disguise for something else.

Often, a walk becomes a photo shoot as I snap away, capturing the changing landscape and anything else of interest we happen upon.

Sometimes a walk is a chance to think or meditate or pray. Sitting on rocks is good for this.

In July and September, walks frequently turn into fruit-picking expeditions, as first the bilberries, and then the blackberries, swell juicy and shiny and dark.

Once a week, a walk is actually an excuse to visit our neighbour, Carol, who lives further along our strung-out village. Her cat, Misty, always obligingly leaves a few scraps in her food bowl for Joss to polish off. And, if we’re lucky, Amy and Hannah who live a few doors away will be there after school; and we’ll all talk and laugh and play while Carol cooks pancakes on the stove.

Some of the best walks are about dashing off to witness the excitement of new life. At the moment, we have piglets and puppies and ducklings to entertain us.

But today’s walk was just an opportunity to sit in the heather on the dry, dry earth and stretch out my legs in the sun. Which isn’t really a walk at all.

But then they rarely are.