I am a fast walker.
I blame it on the Park Service.
Rangers range after all, and it's important to cover ground on patrol.
In the Smokies, years ago, as an NPS volunteer, I remember being amazed at the uphill pace of the experienced Rangers who were showing this flatlander the ropes.
Eventually I got there.
I'm not particularly long-legged, not at all, but I like a wide stride.
Sometimes I get in trouble for walking too fast :), but
it's actually uncomfortable for me to walk slow,
... unless you put a camera in my hands.
Then I'm all creepy, slowy, stoppy, waity, shusshy, hold,
wait a minutey, stalky, s-l-o-w.
I took a slow walk to the mailbox last week.
It took longer than expected, but there were so many speed bumps.
|Speed Bump # 3: This orange fungus.
|This lower limb has died, ... shade pruned by the branches above it. Starved for light, it succumbed, and now is being digested by yet another fungus.
Pausing to appreciate recycling and the carbon cycle, slowed me down just a bit.
|Speed Bump # 8: Making ripples in duckweed.
Do I really need to explain the why of this one?
I thought not.
|Speed Bump # 9: Duckweed itself.
There's something so perfect in this tiny, fast growing plant's simplicity.
It takes time to crouch down and ponder such a thing.
|When I decided to cross the pond on the submerged dike of one of the troughs I created, the duckweed parted for a moment and then closed behind me.
|After the coreopsis speed bump, I headed up the drive towards the house... not really expecting anymore speed bumps, ... but open to them if they should appear.
|So this ... I'm not sure speed bump does this justice.
This is more like the spike strips that officers use to stop a fleeing felon's vehicle.
|It dates from this era, and it may not be that same holster, but the little boy who left it hanging on that palm was about this age when he forgot where he put it.
Over 9 years ago, I wrote about finding this hanging artifact.
It was in better shape then, but that's time for ya.
So, even though I thought I was in the clear for a brisk return to the house, the holster demanded a few moments of remembering the day that day.
I was working on the driveway and he was bouncing around asking a million questions, playing in the dirt, and "guarding" me.
Every once in awhile, I rediscover this holster in the brush at the base of the cabbage palm.
I always take the time to wedge it back onto the tree when I do... even though there's less and less of it each time.
It always makes me smile.
This turned out to be the last stop along the way.
The rest of the walk was uneventful and the junk mail was safely delivered to the kitchen table... a little late perhaps, but there's a reason why they call it, "Snail Mail".