With the first few steps from my front door my left knee aches, jarred by the tarmacced pavement. I am going to the park. There is ten minutes of cookie cutter housing streets to walk through and a dual carriageway to cross. I am cringeing. I try and focus on some recent event my mind needs to digest, or some past happening that I’ve never managed to get my head around. This morning my mind churns over a job that I left last March. Why did I stay there so long when it kept me so small? Who was I then? What have I learnt?
When I reach the park my heart wants to walk off path but my suede boots tell me to stay off the boggy grass. I make my way to the duck pond. A couple of geese shield the fluff of their grey yellow offspring. Yesterday I came upon them unexpectedly and was met with a hiss that had me climbing a grassy bank, despite my footwear.
It is the beginning of a new day but I can still see the half disc of moon behind the clouds. I am approaching my 40th birthday, my waxing, my growing outward into the world is turning. At the back of the pond there is a canopy of trees I cannot name. The wind shakes their leaves, carrying the song of birds I cannot see. Before I travelled out today, part of my mind told me that I didn’t want to go. It told me that I would be bored by it. It told me that I have taken this walk hundreds of times before, that this journey out will have nothing new to show me.
At the end of the tree canopy there is a copper beech. Its dark red leaves rustle. It makes a rosy shadow in the weak morning sunshine. My knee pain eases. I have stopped thinking about the lessons I have learnt from old employment. The wind has shook away my resistance, my self-consciousness. I have reached where I need to be this morning. I am waning now, turning back through the canopy. I am turning into myself. This is the journey home.