I had just planned to walk the two big hounds down the street, knowing they hate being cooped up in the garage. City workers are dismantling our back yard – something about sewers and drains and pipes leaking.
I walked out in my socking feet and that in itself tells you just how different this day is because I can’t remember the last time I put socks on my feet unless they were stuffed into my tennis shoes. The morning is cool and it’s what I call a California day here in this bayou city. We are the city that’s always got a veil of humidity holding everything down. But today, well everything feels crisp. It was that Canadian front that blew in last night.
About halfway to the stop sign, I made the decision: I would take Mose and Ellie to the woods. It’d been a while since the three of us had visited the little patch of bottom land bordered by Cypress creek and civilization.
The only way to do this is barefooted, I think to myself and I pull at my socks, stuffing them in my pocket as I set first foot into the tall pines, sweet gum and cottonwoods. If the air around me in the bright sunshine felt cool, the dappled light filtering through the tree tops and dense undergrowth feels even cooler. My feet are cold. The ground is surprisingly so and I feel all the gumballs along the