I take a walk with Henry every day. We head up the sidewalk and around the neighborhood. When we started it was early fall and almost too hot to complete a walk. We'd both come home needing a ton of water (more so for Henry since he's the one marking everything). And then it turned mild and we could walk forever if we wanted. Leaves began to turn and the sky shifted to a brighter blue. Now it's cold and windy. Our steps are padded by the crunch of multi-colored leaves. My ears feel frostbitten and my eyes water with the breeze that picks up.
Sometimes we pass other folks on the path. Today it was the lady in her long sari. Little, with dark eyes and hair, and skin perforated with wrinkles, she had a tiny hand up against the wind. The exotic cloth of her gown seemed far too thin. Henry stopped his walking and looked at her in mistrust. I said a few comforting words and a, "Hello." She passed by without a reply. Perhaps I shouldn't have spoken.
It's always my goal to make sure Henry's 'business' is done before we head back into the neighborhood. But sometimes, for whatever reason, he can't get the job done until we get right back onto our street. Then inspiration hits and he crouches over the rock landscaping of the first house on the block. I could be mistaken, but I think that house belongs to the Indian lady we passed today. Guess I'm guess I'm lucky she didn't say anything after all.