There isn’t much to say about individual walks… we follow a path that meanders behind houses alongside the river, cuts through a meadow where there is a park where children don’t play at the early hour we walk past, and then follows a wood chip trail between rows of left-to-grow trees from an abandoned city nursery. Moods vary, both mine and Enzo’s. The weather varies and we bear it, no matter what the offering.

Often, when I think of the walks, I don’t think of any particular one… They take on a cumulative quality and so are appreciated like that. Few stand out on their own and yet, the practice of it, the way it marks the beginning of a day must somehow all accumulate for some barely perceptible benefit.