Making my way back in a huge loop, I cut through a field to avoid the two miles of walking required to get around by road. The wind was blowing 10 to 15 mph, rolling over me as I stood in the grass and watched the sky. It felt like a delicious summer moment. Off in the distance I heard a dog bark a couple of times. A couple of minutes later, I heard a soft rustle to my left. Looking over, I saw a light-colored Mastiff mix of some kind sitting on its back legs and looking at me. 

Because I’m eloquent, I put my phone in my pocket and squatted. “Who wants some pets?” The dog wagged its butt and came right up to me, nuzzling against my hand. I wasn’t worried because if it had wanted to, it could have launched like a missile and took me to the grass. It followed me to the fence along the highway. I gave it one more pet through the boards. 

I wanted to walk one more time around the park opposite the equine center. It’s deeply dark and the wind howls through there. It’s also a great place to watch the sky. Heading toward it, a GMC Yukon veered off of Garland and slowly drove down the length of the park and then followed the dark road around until about the halfway point. Whoever was driving left the headlights on. It’s an unusual time of the morning for anyone to be out there. 

Shenanigans came to mind. I walked down the side road and then cut to the left through the grass into the park. You have to keep in mind that it’s deeply dark there and the only light is a dim one generated from the pavilion lights that are left on overnight. Standing next to a tall oak tree, I could see the silhouette of someone standing near the front of the Yukon. 

Without trying to control it, I screeched one of my infamous pterodactyl screams. I let out a second one. It took no time at all for the person standing next to the vehicle to open the door, hop in, and drive to the end of the road next to Garland. They stopped. I’m pretty sure their eyes were scanning the park, trying to see the origin of the pterodactyl scream. I let out another one. The vehicle immediately swung right and drove away on Garland. 

I’m infinitely amused that whoever was driving might go home and tell people that they heard a monster in the dark. How are they going to know it was a middle-aged man walking around in the dark, trying to find lemon moments and shenanigans? 

I’m not accustomed to my long walks meeting the sunrise, or the tendrils of color immediately prior to it. The birds have awakened on their new fall schedule. “I don’t get the appeal,” people will sometimes honestly tell me, hearing about me wandering around when we’re supposed to be sleeping. It’s not something to get. It has to be experienced. It’s exactly like pretty much every other human experience.

It’s for the same reason I climbed up on top of the 10 foot high mound of dirt next to the railroad tracks, not caring that I might fall down. The decibels of the air horn and the thunder of the tracks made the inside of my spine tickle as I stood on top of the mound and watched the train pass. The sunrise behind it. Try explaining that sort of thing to other adults who would never in a million years do it, even if I enthusiastically explained to them that it is as a memorable experience as watching the sunrise shine across a mountain in the middle of the wilderness. 

X

.