At the End of the Day

The sun has just about set. The birds are almost quiet. I'm sure the cats are stalking something with four legs.
I'm heading out for a walk. The breeze is settled. It's one of my favourite times of day.

At the end of the day

I've now lived on the gravel road for 16 years. Seems like a long time.

The farm and the gravel road are home. The city-any city- would be,too- if I lived there. But I live here. I take much of this as given, now, though. I'm about to go for a walk as the sun sets and it gets dark. Alone. On a gravel road. (Cue scary music! ha) When I walk I hear the evening song of the birds, the frogs' song and, soon, will be able to smell and listen to the corn grow. If a car drives by, it will be A car, not a constant stream. If I hear voices, it will be because the sound is carrying across a field. If I hear traffic, it will be the white noise that drifts north from the 401. But it's pretty still tonight, so maybe no traffic.

I can't go to the corner Starbucks with a book and watch the people walk along Richmond Row. Have to make my own. I can't pass a group of friends I haven't seen for awhile and stop and get caught up. Have to call. I can't take a different route, because there's only left and right out of the driveway and there are only so may ways I can walk before I have to pass a dog whose personality I am not sure of, and so, avoid. Have to notice the small changes in the fields or the sky or the road underfoot.

I suppose this is what city people think when they pine for the country. They can't live a car free life, or walk to work or school, but they can walk a gravel road, at night, alone.