Walking the Lake

It was a good idea to meet up with my friend and her dog to walk the lake today.  The weather was perfect, crisp, slightly warm from the weak winter sun and the winds hadn’t picked up yet.  We walked briskly, catching up and keeping up with her dog Pink.  Ellen and I have been friends since we were 13 and that’s saying a lot.  A lot of time and water under the bridge.  We have been in and out of contact and manage to stay connected somehow.  We chat and observe the people, old immigrants, young children still on winter break, men fishing or playing with remote-controlled boats on the lake.  We pass the different areas; the playground, the bridge crossing the tumbling water, the bird-filled trees that sound like an aviary as we pass underneath and the benches inhabited by people reading, talking, resting and daydreaming.  We see children frolicking as they run from the large geese and tease the smaller birds with crumbs.  We hear people speaking many languages.  What is that?  Russian, Spanish, Italian?  There is a melding pot of people all out for a day in January, starting the New Year with a stroll, a walk hand-in-hand, in workout gear, new sneakers, old walking shoes and jackets, with arms pumping and quick breaths, with hands holding canes to steady plump bodies breathing slowly.  For this hour, we walk in this moment in time.  Old friends sharing, enjoying the beauty that exists within a busy city.