Sunday, in Briones Park yet again, I walked nine miles or so up and down steep hills. Every so often, I sat in the middle of the trail and drank a pint of water in a few seconds. The bay laurels seethed great clouds of volatile oils in the sun. I walked until I could walk no further, rested a few moments, then kept going.
It was not an especially wildlifey day, aside from the nicely mated pair of muledeer I saw on the ridge above Pleasant Hill. But there were Steller’s jays in the bay and oak — a combination totemic of these parts — and California buckeye butterflies, pipevine swallowtails in iridescent blue and black, and sweetly daubed California sisters.
While we’re on that subject, is there anything more delightful than the quiet smiles of women hiking alone on the trail, the brazen eyes and bright teeth and joyous posture? I must have radiated the good mood I felt, for there was not a shy nor self-conscious flicker of female eye the whole way. Or perhaps they were just grinning at the oaf talking to the jays and butterflies. Either way, I’ll take it.
This week is busy, getting an issue of the Journal to the printer on Wednesday, then in the truck and Tucson-bound on Thursday. If I don’t come to my senses while I’m out there, I’ll be back Wednesday-Thursdayish next week. As they say in this business, blogging will be light to nonexistent for the next ten days, with scattered meteor showers in the evening hours and a chance of head clearing by Monday. Do me a favor and imagine me there, rolling down the road in the pickup with some Hank on the radio.
Oh, and are there any volunteers to remove the damn comment spam while I’m gone?
