June 3, 2020 was a momentous day for me. It was the day I walked away from it all.
March 23 was when teleworking officially began. I had already spent two or so weeks in fear of it happening. As I sat in Tampa, Florida, an e-mail informed me to immediately notify the human resources director if I had gone to any of a number of states for Spring Break. Florida was among them.
I spent the rest of my vacation in fear that I would not be allowed to go back to work, believing I had done something wrong. Had I not taken pictures, I would have no memory of what happened I was so paralyzed with fear.
My fear got worse when I started the journey home. Now, generally, travel by airplane is taxing for me. I was all about social distancing before it had a name. I spent many a flight wedged against the wall of the airplane because of space hogs I did not want touching me; I really don't like strangers to touch me. Now a stranger's touch could kill me.
We came back from Spring Break and made it a week before we shut down and had to regroup. Thankfully, I had actually gotten organized enough to put all my classes online and maintain it. I had very little to do that week, so I used it to regroup mentally, to calm down and prepare to make it through uncharted territory.
I spent the better part of April and May not leaving my house and being afraid if I did. I knew something had to change when I felt like a prisoner in my own house and my own car, even in my own neighborhood.
I decided June 3 I needed to get out of my house somehow. I would just get out and walk. My place of choice was Sunset Park, a source of joy and happiness for me as a child. Sunset Park had the merry-go-round and the train, a zoo and the Children's Museum. The zoo closed and the Children's Museum relocated when they were flooded during Hurricane Floyd in 1999. I had not been to the park since my nephew had one of his birthday parties at the spray park.
I learned that the Tar River Trail ran through the park, and I decided to take a walk there. The first walk started near the picnic shelter at the corner of Taylor Street and River Drive. That stretch of the trail parallels River Drive, then turns and parallels Peachtree Street. One must cross Peachtree Street and Falls Road to continue on the trail. I was not about crossing streets that day.
As I got lost in nature that day, I wondered if I had done the right thing. The deer I saw along the path was a good enough sign for me. I decided as I meandered along the Tar River and through wetlands that this was my favorite place to walk.
The next day I picked up where I left off. I continued on the trail into Battle Park, where my city began, along the falls and the rocky mounds in the river. Once again, I meandered through nature; leaves rustling in the trees mingled with highway noise. Still, I decided that no, this was my favorite, this gift of nature less than a mile from a bustling freeway, literally the birthplace of my city. I think of Robert Frost's "The Road Not Traveled" each time I walk through there. I save some paths for another day, only I do come back.
Perhaps there's a poem in there, about coming back and traveling paths.
As I have traveled miles and miles through Battle Park and into Stith Talbert Park, crossing counties as I do, I have walked under bridges, I have found two tiny beaches along the banks of the Tar River, I have marveled at the Falls, and I have witnessed what a small flooding event in late June did to the park. Yesterday, I watched the sky go from cloudy to black in minutes. I watched the wind pick up and blow leaves like raindrops.
My steps today will take me through Sunset Park, and I am thankful that I can walk through there at all, as Tropical Storm Isaias seemingly missed us after being projected to hit us directly.
I will enjoy the sun beating down on my shoulders as I watch the river roll past me; I will say hello to tiny friends like squirrels and anoles, and maybe turtles and deer.
Most of all, though, I will just enjoy being in the world for the time it takes me to walk my three or so miles.
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