A mind of its own

My brain has a mind of its own.  Well, duh, you say, what else is new?

Last summer when I attempted to walk here I had to be alert and on my toes at all times.  The lawnmower man, the one who whipped through here at forty miles an hour spewing grass like a corn reaper gone mad, nearly ran me down twice.

It's much less eventful in the winter, especially if I wear a hooded jacket. Turn to the right and what do I see?  The inside of my black and white herringbone coat!  Same goes for the left.

It's eyes straight ahead and after a while the stark flat land with a man made lake ceases to be quite the wonder it was when things were green -- and warm, did I mention warm?  It's freezing out there!

After a while my brain, like a sheep dog desperate for something to do, takes on a life of its own. I find myself chanting (only in my head, thank goodness), "Miss that turd, miss that turd, miss that turd. . . "

Instead of trying to avoid Blinky, Pinky, and Clyde, I am avoiding little brown barrels. It's a combination of PacMan and Donkey Kong.  There is no beeping, but there is honking and occasionally there is a great flutter of wings. And my job?

Just keep going, just keep going . . .