So, what does one experience while walking? It differs daily. It differs from place to place. One person's walkable community is another person's talkable inventory. To wit:
strewn birdseed pecked at by three squirrels, five darting fiches and sparrows, four cautious mourning doves; tired and worn dog waste in the grass; a game of baseball (hardball!) on a copper-sunset diamond, young players, middle aged coaches, no umpires; three green barrels, as in 55-gallon drums, brimming over with trash; a swimming pool filled with silent emerald water, no lifeguards, no swimmers, too cold; green upon layer of green upon darkened or lightened verdure, rolling in contours and 9-hole frustration and pleasure; a pruned bush with a dangling branch of Y; a sacred grove of Tuscany-laden shrubs along the pathway; the robin's evening vesper recitation, persistent and mournful and prescient of dawn
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