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I took a nice walk up in Inwood Hill Park just now. I had to backtrack a few times, because some of the paths are still unnavigably icy. In particular, one steep way up into the hills ("The Clove" on the Parks Department maps) looked difficult to get up, and dangerous to try coming down again; fortunately, the other path that goes up from that spot near the soccer field was fine.
The hills still say winter, though the periwinkle leaves are whispering a dark glossy "Spring." I saw no interesting birds, and almost no people. A few squirrels, and two dead mice on one bit of path. At the first, I thought "We're not asked to report dead mice"; the second, a minute later, was "That's two" and I started looking for patterns, or more dead mice, but found neither. Okay, one pattern, but not about mice: the higher spots are mostly clear of snow, while the area between the two ridges is still very white when viewed from above. Not surprising: that pair of hills combine to block several hours of direct sunlight every day.
I also had a nice chat with a woman I met next to the water; she pointed out the swan to her daughter as "ganso" and I thanked her for the word, and gave her the English when she asked. She said she knew "a little English," and I admitted to knowing a little Spanish. She said something in Spanish, and when I said "Por supuesto, lo estudie en el colegio" ["Of course, I studied it in high school"] we were in Spanish for the rest of our chat. She told me her name, and her daughter's; I told her mine; we discussed feeding the ducks. A pleasant chat, and while I remembered "ganso" long enough to write it here--in part by making simple sentences about the swan on my way home, things like "el ganso es grande" and "el ganso nada en el rio"--I've already forgotten her name.
One goal of the walk was to make my menstrual cramps go away. It worked: for as long as I was walking. They've already come back, a little, now that I'm inside and sitting down. Even if I wanted to, I can't walk sixteen hours a day; I guess I'll have to fall back on ibuprofen.
The hills still say winter, though the periwinkle leaves are whispering a dark glossy "Spring." I saw no interesting birds, and almost no people. A few squirrels, and two dead mice on one bit of path. At the first, I thought "We're not asked to report dead mice"; the second, a minute later, was "That's two" and I started looking for patterns, or more dead mice, but found neither. Okay, one pattern, but not about mice: the higher spots are mostly clear of snow, while the area between the two ridges is still very white when viewed from above. Not surprising: that pair of hills combine to block several hours of direct sunlight every day.
I also had a nice chat with a woman I met next to the water; she pointed out the swan to her daughter as "ganso" and I thanked her for the word, and gave her the English when she asked. She said she knew "a little English," and I admitted to knowing a little Spanish. She said something in Spanish, and when I said "Por supuesto, lo estudie en el colegio" ["Of course, I studied it in high school"] we were in Spanish for the rest of our chat. She told me her name, and her daughter's; I told her mine; we discussed feeding the ducks. A pleasant chat, and while I remembered "ganso" long enough to write it here--in part by making simple sentences about the swan on my way home, things like "el ganso es grande" and "el ganso nada en el rio"--I've already forgotten her name.
One goal of the walk was to make my menstrual cramps go away. It worked: for as long as I was walking. They've already come back, a little, now that I'm inside and sitting down. Even if I wanted to, I can't walk sixteen hours a day; I guess I'll have to fall back on ibuprofen.