Mulling things on my morning ramble
with Storm, the family's mixed Lab.
I realized that I had walked all the way to the side rail tracks this morning, completely oblivious to the world around me.
I was sorting through a pile of work in my head and considering the appeal of Roger Ebert and the meaning of his death yesterday.
The death of Mr. Ebert is a blow in many ways to the Sun-Times.
Two things meant the most to me as examples.
One is that he carried a passion for the movies in his reviews, even after having done reviews for 46 years. Passion built on knowledge. He made movie reviews matter.
I hope that I keep that same sort of passion for the outdoors for as long as I write about it.
Second, I most enjoyed his op-ed pieces. In part because he was smart and wrote well, I felt like he often congealed ideas I had bouncing around my head in his op-ed work.
And it helped that he believed in the possibilities of being human, in other words he leaned toward the flaming liberal side.
As I crossed over the side tail, a plethora of red-winged blackbirds trilling rather raucously from the edges of the north old clay pit pulled me back into the moment.
Two woodpeckers hammered away in the distance.
No ducks were on either pit. One Canada goose strutted around the grass around the town pond. A few Canada geese honked in the distance. One goose was on the nest on the e island on the south pit.
The remnants of the ice shanty remnants linger at the boat launch; the splash of bright blue from the tarp catching my eye each morning.
Three robins were in such a violent pursuit of each other on the east side of the south pit that I could hit their wings whack tree branches. I assume it was some featured part of the mating process.
The bright spot of the morning was when a woodcock exploded from the brush as Storm and I turned from the wildness of the town pond and headed back into town.
I found some comfort in that, comfort in being focused enough to notice it.
A blue jay squawked from a neighbor's elm as we cut the corner out of the alley near home. In the distance, a block north, yet another woodpecker hammered away. Now I noticed the cooing of mourning doves on all sides.
Life goes on.