As my husband is recuperating from surgery, he has to maintain a minimum level of exercise and so he walks around the neighborhood. I walk with him around the block. As he is in pain, he walks very slowly and I walk slowly with him. Ever since we began our slow amble, we have begun noticing the variety of shades of fall leaves on the ground, on the trees, on the lawns and bushes: mostly ocher and the nuances of it from light to dark. The entire neighborhood is orange themed: pumpkins carved to their ghoulish perfection, orange leaves strung around mailboxes and fastened over doors and windows, orange fall bushes, orange bags filled with raked leaves standing guard by driveways, waiting to be picked up at some point after the trick or treaters have disappeared into the fall gloom on Halloween night. Yesterday I stuck my tongue out and tasted the fresh coolness of the air-, the dampness of the impending rain on my skin, the aroma of ammonia just beginning in the wet sod. Slow walks are great for exhaling and inhaling very slowly. The air was delicious as it touched my nostrils and the inhalations and exhalations made my muscles relaxed, my skin sing. Our perambulation finally stopped at our burgundy front door and we entered our home more in tune with our spirits than we had been before our walk.
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