walk

It’s fitting to do a Bittman soup for supper. Anything that is minimal, simple. (He reminded me in the NYTimes this Sunday about the virtues of escarole. I did throw in rotisserie chicken and sprinkled it with parmesan, in addition to the toasted garlic chips.)





Eaten on the lap, with books open.

But the morning is so beautiful, so sweetly scented, that I cannot get myself to merely ride the bus to work. I walk most of the way to campus, hopping on the bus for just the last stops. It could not be helped. Who would not want to walk under a canopy of blossoms...













On a day when even the weeds look beautiful...





Provence may have its lavander, but we’ve got the lilacs.





After class, I walk again...





Until sanity nudges me a little. Woman, you’ve got work to do!

And so I cheat for a short bus ride during the more boring stretch of the road home.

Sitting now, I glance across at the three women and a girl. Lovely, dreamy faces of young life.







Outside, walking the last stretch, I think how only nature can pull of color combinations such as these.





I shouldn't pause, I know I have to hurry, but the fact is, only on a busy day am I likely to walk especially slowly. Who wouldn't. Really, who wouldn't.