Walking in slippers

Yesterday, as I drove to meet my walking companions, the rain was coming down in wet gusts. I wondered if I should bag it, and go food shopping. There wasn't much besides the half empty bottle of old catsup and a gallon of milk in the refrigerator. I'd been out straight with things to do. Shopping had taken the way back seat. How could I be heading out this morning for myself? How could I go for a walk?

Feeling more than a bit guilty, I drove on to the meeting spot.

"Should we go?" my friend queried.

I was handed my out, and replied, "Well, I do need to go shopping, and do some GS business, and ...." The list went from there.

"Let's wait and see what happens, just a few minutes. Maybe it will clear." We stood around, under cover, and talked town business, as usual. Mid conversation, I looked up and the rain had stopped. The question: To walk or not to walk was put forth again, and with nods of agreement we were off.

"I need to show you that ladyslipper," he went on.

It had been a few years since I'd seen one and I was looking forward to it. And as we crowned a small hill, on the left was a bloom. "It's beautiful" I gushed. "Is this the one?"

"No! and I've walked this trail practically every morning, and never saw that one."

And then there was another, and then another, and another. I thought to start counting, but we had passed so many, and each time, commented on its beautiful color or daintiness, that I didn't want to start an inaccurate count.

For slipper-lined miles, we noticed the blooms were nestled in soft pine needle beds, and hypothesized that they liked acidic soil. I found myself relaxing more, and more, the further we walked. The sound system dilemma was no longer front and center. The soft pink slippers were all I was thinking about. Them and the occasional thought required when discussing light topics like, cooking dinner for one verses five, have-a-heart traps, or fertilizing a vegetable garden.

That gentle walk was just what I needed. The soft rain moistened trail under foot. No mp3 player to keep my feet moving, just shared conversation and the hope of seeing pink slippers. And as I drove off to squeeze in a surgical strike at the market, in the quiet of the car, I heard, "See, you're not so tired anymore."

"Thank you."