My Last Walk

Mark, my yogi friend in New York, after reading about my walk from the train to my home by the sea says: "“A little reality check while you pack your bags: NYC subways, when they're full, carry between 110 and 175 passengers per car, depending on which size car, adding up to 1,100 to 1,450 people riding every train. So how far do you have to walk on your country lane to bump into 1,450 folks?"

My last walk.
After getting off the train I began the 20-minute trek in the dark, up hill, without seeing a soul. The waxing allmost full moon lit the way and I could see the stars over the sea through bushes and trees over rooftops. I picked a small sprig of jasmine and lavender from dark bushes, rubbing the lavender into my wrists and inhaling the sweet jasmine. My walk was very still except for each step from my soft-soled hiking boots and the clinking of the ends of two zippers on my backpack. I was one with the stillness. No birds, no dogs, no train or cars, not even a distant TV. I listened for approaching traffic behind me, coming up the hill or suddenly appearing in front of me, around each bend, leaving no room either way: on my right, a high cliff, and on my left a slopping ravine.

We're coming into Winter. The air was cold but my body warmed to the fast pace. Passing one house I heard the rustle of bushes from a distant hill, moving towards me, getting louder, feeling closer and closer. A werewolf? Lurking in the dark ready to pounce? I am the dark, I whispered. I walked around the final bend, leaving the rustle of dead leaves from a dog or perhaps an opossum behind me. The darkest part of the journey was now in the past and I saw the sea, lit from the moon and stars. I followed the end of the winding road to my driveway and checked my mail. I hadn't seen another soul since I got off the train, twenty minutes ago, not even those sitting in their living rooms watching the blue glow. I lit my torch (flashlight) and walked down the fifty steps to the bach, (cottage) my home. This part of the walk is very dark from the bushes and trees, even with the moon I wouldn't find my way without my tiny torch attached to my keys.

Once inside I checked the rooms, lit a fire, went through more papers, and went to bed with the usual two hot water bottles. Around three a.m. I woke to a room full of light. The full moon was low in the sky over Mana Island, reflecting on a silver and calm sea from the sky all the way to me. I heard a noise. Is that what woke me? What could it be? There it was again. What is it? It was much too dark and early to be a bird; it would be hours before dawn. There, again, a long soulfull cry. Who was calling me? Were they saying stay or go? Please?

It was so quiet I could see the stillness and hear my heart beat. Re-entry back to New York City could be bizarre.