My daily dogwalk has been a bit constricted of late, the heat and humidity of a hot June morning are hard on my four-legged friends. We typically do a lap and a half around the grounds of our welcoming neighborhood Southern Baptist church, good for about forty minutes with a pause in the middle so they can lap up the contents of their canteen and catch their second wind. Then I take them home and carry on alone, with my own thoughts and immediacies for company.
This morning I entertained the amusing thought that my little loop sort of resembles Charles Darwin's Sandwalk, on the grounds of the home he called Down House. He used to rack up so many laps, lost in thought, that he eventually resorted to piling up stones every time he passed "go" so he'd know when it was time to traipse back to desk and hearth and daughters and pigeons.
I certainly don't flatter myself by trying to carry the comparison any further than that. I'm never going to hatch the greatest idea anyone ever had, out there orbiting the temple of doom. (Wouldn't that be a nice prize?) But if the orbit doesn't decay too soon I may still hope to come up with a better idea than I've yet considered.
One thing my Sandwalk has that Charley's didn't is this tangible sign of progress and encouragement:
It always put a little more bounce in my step, as I enhance the quality of my life and keep circling for better ideas.
If I come up with a solution to the problem of domestic terror in the USA I'll be sure to pass that along.
Charles Darwin (
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