A Journal of A Walk

10:45

Saturday

22.2.2019

Walking in a popular path of the countryside gave me a sense of security,

though it might be false.

It was a dull morning after a rainy day that probably put people off,

so the trail was quiet.

The harbour view was breathtaking,

but it seemed to be for the benefit of those few people who could afford to live in the area.

Being hopeless in tracking directions,

all signs must be followed.

If you miss an important one,

you may get yourself into troubles.

Newspapers are not the necessities of life anymore,

but they are still useful to keep your trousers clean, not white ones of course.

The young green leaves are often the first signal of spring in the city,

but reminders of last year's exceptional storms were everywhere

and they explained why giant trees fell.

Yet, it is just part of the life cycle of every being

- no living thing is forever,

even though one does not transgress.
Nonetheless, the sun seems to exist forever and it finally came out of the clouds.

Urban facilities are becoming essential in countryside these days

and a staffed toilet is most welcomed,

and she must be sitting here for the whole morning with her radio,

hoping time to pass faster.

Despite a steep path,

the trail started easy,

and some places still possessed the remnants of last autumn.

Well, good things never last.

It turned out that the path was much more challenging than expected

for a city dweller who hardly walked more than 30 minutes a day.

And it seemed to go on and on

and the calves of the legs blamed the head for making the wrong decision.

A quick Google and it said it was one of the hardest sections of the whole trail.

Should have Googled it earlier,

at least before 10:45!

Finally, the view from the top of the hill was a great reward for the strenuous walk,

even though it was only a peek of the back garden of the privileged few,

as the garden is huge.
Knowing that the next section of the trail was also very challenging,

making the decision to take a right turn to leave the trail for a historical site was easy.

Passing through some dense woodlands,
a  row of derelict houses was close to the end of the long and narrow path.

Some people might have tried to mend them,

but they gave up some years ago.

Still, they made sure that the damaged houses were wanted.

A fierce dog started barking its lungs out.

Scared?

Extremely. Indeed.

Can it be behind those windows?

That might explain why it only barked.

Or, can it be right behind the fallen wall, 

ready to lunge at whoever gets past it?

After ten minutes' hesitation, the decision to walk down the path was made. 

I simply did not have the strength to walk back to the start. 

I definitely would if I had.

I cannot blame the dog.

It barks because it is a dog.

Turned out that there were several occupied houses further down the path, 

and a huge black dog was chained to the front porch of a big house.

It immediately silenced off after I passed it.

A driveway was at the end of the path,

and resting in the breeze under the shade was the best thing I could ask for

before the second leg of the journey,

wishing that there were no more dog ahead
and ruminating how close I would have been bitten by a dog again.