A Chronicle of a Walk on a Sunny Day

11:45 AM on a Thursday. Sunny, for the first time in a long time, which makes it the perfect day for a walk. As I prepare to leave the flat, my landlady, who happens to sleep on the couch in the living room, is mumbling to herself as she reads tarot. The window is open, and she suggests that I use some of the mint growing on the ledge before it shrivels. She looks out the window, then says, not necessarily to me, “Lovely day, lovely day.” 

Cold, but just warm enough that I’ll have shed my coat and scarf by the time I return. Not yet, though, as I’ve just set foot outside to commune with the midday air. This walk has become a natural part of my remote work days, like brushing my teeth. I walk, I observe, I return to my computer screen. 

The walk is mostly the same every day, except I now wear a tweed trench coat, which is new. At the corner of my street, an older woman in a pink bathrobe and slippers asks in a hoarse voice if I smoke. She always addresses me as darling. I’m not sure why she’s here, but she’s always here and always asking. 

I tell her, “No,” with a polite smile, then continue on my way. She is never there on my return. 

A few minutes down the road is an old church. Sometimes, I can see the choir practicing on the top floor. Their voices and laughter intermingle and drift down to the street. Today, they’re practicing a dance with tambourines and thin ribbons. I can’t hear too well, but I can see them waving the instruments in their hands. 

A needle sits on the side of the road nearer to the busy intersection. At least I think that’s what it is. It reminds me of a dream I’d forgotten I’d had the previous night. The world was ending for one reason or another, and we’d all been shipped little metal boxes of syringes to administer our own quiet deaths. I don’t remember if I chose to take it, but I see a hazy image of my family and me around our kitchen table, deliberating. Do we wait and take our chances? Chances with what, I’m not sure. Environmental disaster. Nuclear bombs. An easier decision to make in reality, because I can’t stand needles. Maybe if they put the dose in something else. 

I’m about five minutes from my destination, the free coffee stand inside Waitrose, when a branch from a nearby tree snaps, then plummets. The limb comes down like a dagger, diving straight into the ground. It lands inches before my feet. A man a few paces ahead of me stops dead in his tracks and turns around, asks me if I’m okay. With a nervous laugh, I assure him that I am. We bid each other good day. The ordeal doesn’t frighten me nearly as much as it should. I keep walking. 

The coffee machine never works for me at first. I try all the tricks: smashing the buttons, hitting the side of the machine, asking nicely. One of the three works after a few minutes. I’m not sure which. I know the coffee will be too hot to drink, and I take a sip anyway. With a burned tongue, I begin to wind my way back. 

I always keep an eye out for cats on my walk, and I usually find at least one patrolling the streets. Today’s wanderer is friendlier than most. I crouch down to say hello, and she climbs into my lap, then leaps to my shoulders. I sit with her for a while. 

When I try to walk away, she jumps in front of my sneakers. I almost step on her, catching myself on a neighboring fence. We play this game for a couple of blocks. I take a step; she jumps at my shoes. Eventually, she follows me without protest to the final intersection before my street. This is a threshold she won’t cross. 

Around the corner from my flat, a man puts his hands over his head as he passes me, then says, “Watch your head!” 

After a few seconds, it clicks: this is the same man from the branch incident. I laugh, taken aback, then cover the top of my head with my hands. We wave goodbye as friends. 

My landlady is still reading tarot when I reenter the flat. She sees me, asks about the weather, then takes my response with an absent nod.

“Lovely day,” she says, “lovely day.” She’s forgotten that she’s told me this before, or maybe she knows there will only be so many more days on which to say it.