Patches and I go walking every morning about 7:20. We may be a bit earlier or later but that’s about the time. We make a two mile looping journey through three subdivisions, along sidewalks, passing frontdoors, and on golf cart paths where we disappear from sight. We see certain people religiously.

There are three exercisers. A large man who wears a sleeveless t-shirt and shorts, strides along pumping his arms high in the air. He works up quite a sweat. He seems glad to see us. We pass Bruce, who run-walks. He is my age, red-faced, wearing his white t-shirt and sweatpants and always speaks to us. There is the skinny woman who runs in various colored jogging bras and spandex or gym shorts (she has much more variety in her wardrobe than the men). Her gait is awkward and her feet flail out to the side as she runs. Her black poodle runs with her and she too lacks any grace in her stride, but hey, they move along pretty fast.

Patches and I walk, covering the distance in about 37 minutes. There are three big hills to go up and down. The homes are beautiful and the yards have shapely landscapes and gardens filled with blossoms—annuals, shrubs, roses, flowering trees and hedges. I pass the lady gardener who knows Patches name and speaks to her. She seems to be involved with most of the showy floral displays along our route and in the early morning she works in her hat with gloved hands, removing dead blossoms and stems, sometimes replanting seasonal bloomers.

There are other dogs. The yappers on the corner raise an alarm as we pass their house on two sides. Both of them yap ferociously in the front window and one races to the back patio to bark at us again until we are out of sight. There is an elderly couple with white hair who have an elderly white poodle. They make their way along slowly. There is a woman with two daschunds. They are not well behaved. The young couple with a large gray weimaraner sometimes jog with him. He is not on a leash, though they carry the leash. He neither looks to the right or the left but stays exactly on their heels. I’ve never seen him turn his head to consider Patches. On the next street there is another weimaraner, that is more blackish. She also runs loose at times and her German speaking mistress has little control over her. She has told me that the dog can ignore commands in both German and English. She pushes her large garbage can out to the street on Tuesdays as we come by. Regis, is a little noisemaker over on the Governor’s Street subdivision who is often tied in front of his house. His barks usually bring his mistress out to scold him.

It is a beautiful, largely peaceful walk, interrupted by a few “hellos,” head nods, and an occasional conversation. Mrs. K comes out to get her paper as we walk by on many mornings. I often see Mr. R backing out on his way to work, or his son Tyler as he drives the tenth of a mile from his house to the high school parking lot. A Chinese couple who speak no English walk slowly along on many mornings.

The morning light is coming later and later now and soon we’ll be going along in the dark and the cold and we’ll long for spring.