PANDEMIC WALKING (August 6)

A brisk march around my house takes 40 seconds. My usual aim is for 40 minutes of uninterrupted walking, equal to 60 turns. Preferable to walking around the pool, which takes 20 seconds, and, in turn, would require 120 laps. Victor chooses this latter option, plugged into his Audible App, listening to the latest of 70 books consumed during the pandemic; he walks late, after work, in the gathering dark, oblivious to his surroundings, only kicking the occasional ball to Zaffy. Being a morning person I prefer an early walk and choose to go around the house due to the variation of landscape – there’s the narrow path along the side of the house, lined with a bed of smooth round stones, where I once found a small frog sitting stock-still, waiting for me to pass. Then I emerge into the front garden, covered in flagstones and with an abundance of bromeliads along the wall to the street. Right now, the orchids tied to the palm trees there are in bloom and display several clusters of delicate white, orange, and pink flowers. An unafraid squirrel used to live there, but sadly he has disappeared. 

I can just see the tops of the tall trees in the lush grounds of an apartment complex across the road, which long ago used to be the Canadian embassy. The sky above them is intensely blue and – out of nowhere – transports me to a similar sky on Easter Island, glistening above us and the sea when we visited a spectacular volcano on Victor’s birthday. 

Then, through a gate and down a little step, I pass on to our garage, where our car is silently gathering dust, kept in working order by Oswaldo, who turns it on every Monday. I pass by our kitchen, sometimes overhearing voices from the neighbor’s house behind the white tile wall on my left separating our properties. A divorced man, he’s been isolating all alone for months, now occasionally broken by weekend visits from his young daughters who play raucously in the pool or kick balls around, adding welcome energy to the atmosphere. 

Up another step and turning I pass the staircase going down to the next floor, where Victor lives, and emerge onto our covered veranda next to the pool. Here the view opens up beyond the pool to a long vista of the “Dois Irmãos” mountains across the valley that separates our house from the rising hill on the other side. 

Usually this is where a tennis ball lies waiting for me to kick, with an expectant German Shepherd crouched at the ready and hiding behind a chair. I give a mighty kick to the ball, she takes off,  and I resume my walk passing in front of the glass doors to our living room and noticing more orchids in bloom tied to the trees, before completing one lap by turning into the narrow path where I wonder if I’ll see the frog. 

I like to walk in silence where my thoughts form loosely, and I pay attention to random things. I find myself humming, not songs that I know, but rather a small sequence of notes going nowhere special, but which give me pleasure through just placing the voice, high or low, strong or weak inside my nose and throat. 

It must be manifestation of feeling relaxed and at peace with one’s surroundings – the ultimate purpose of walking for 40 minutes.