Walking along the north side of the dark olive river this morning, there was a bird sound that I'm not certain was authentic. It was a blending of a hoot and whistle at a medium pitch. But there would not be duck hunters along a river that runs between a mall and condominiums, so it was probably a bird. At first, I searched for the bird, but then decided that I would rather not know what was making the sound. It gave me a pleasurable sense of mystery to not know where the call came from.
Wading a few feet from the bank of the slow flowing river was a fisherman in a rubber suit. His body was supported by an air filled round tube that kept his chest above the water and allowed for free movement of his arms. I wondered what it would be like, to be in a tranquil place out of view of the city not fifty feet away. Did his feet touch the ground? Did his outfit keep him warm? Was he there for the love of fishing or the desire to be immersed in natural settings? I wonder how he stayed in one place without being tugged down stream toward the ocean only a few miles away. Why does water seem thicker when I can't see the bottom then when it is shallow and clear? It appears more like the consistency of a watery olive paste then the water that I drink. But it's water, so it must be the same.
Wafting every few feet were smells that only my dog was interested in pursuing. I remind myself that this walk is for her enjoyment as well as mine as she stops periodically to take in the odor left by dogs before her. What would life be like at the sight level of a dog? How would it feel to be at the mercy of a leash and who decides to adopt you? What would life be like if everyone I met was my friend and needed to be greeted when we passed? What does it feel like to have a black fur coat on every moment of your life?
Back at home, the palm tree outside the window is straight but the fronds flow with the movement of the wind. Another day to write.