Morning Walk

7:30 in the morning, Friday I believe.

Standing in the kitchen in my nightgown still, I lean on one of the white cupboards where I keep my groceries. I make my morning cup of coffee; pure black with neither milk nor sugar. Routine. I can see a pleasing sunny day slowly coming up behind the windows. I should probably clean those at some point since the view through them gets a bit blurred sometimes. Carrying my coffee with me, I walk out of my little cozy apartment in the Wivenhoe centre.

It is a fall, yet warm and sunny morning. A gentle breeze is touching my skin while I walk down the street. I love this way down to the river. I am passing the first of the long line of houses. This one is exceptionally adorable. I always wonder if the people living there are gardeners or something. Their front yard is beautifully neat, of a fine appearance. A few richly branched, tall trees stand by the sides of the house as if to shield it from danger. A bunch of gorgeously bloomed flowers stick out to the pavement. Beautiful. I stop by to smell; tempted to touch them as they look so soft, almost delicate to the touch. Their colourfulness and vividness makes me cheerful. The pavements around here are quite narrow. Standing by the flowers, I let an old lady pass before me.

“Oh, thank you, dear,” she smiles kindly and slowly walks up the street.

I smile back and move on. There is a tight sideroad on my left. Although, it resembles a footpath more due to its stony surface and bushes and flowers by its sides. I look both ways before crossing. I let a car go first. I watch after it. The stones are little, of grey, nearly pure white colour. The narrow road they form is lined with many varieties of flowers. Those presumably belong to the houses’ owners, owners of the houses which stand by the road as well as the flowers. The houses, of which there are many, are made of wooden panels; panels of every colour you can possibly think of. This little colourful alley leads to the fields and woods on the other side of the town, far away to the very heart of true nature; true nature is what this soul of mine is fully devoted to.

“Mornin’ Mr Rodgers! How are you doin’? I can see Penny didn’t let you sleep longer today, did she?!” I greet him, bending down to caress his little doggie. Oh, how cute she is!

“Hiya! Oh god no, just like every single morning!” He laughs and strokes Penny.

“See you later then!”

“See you, take care, dear.”

Mr Rodgers is an older man in his sixties. He lives next door, together with his wife and the little doggie. They had got Penny as a present for their 40th wedding anniversary, from their kids, I think. They both are very kind people. I love going to their place for a cup of tea, just to have a chat or to caress Penny. And yes, Mrs Rodgers bakes the best Victoria Sponge!

I watch after them for a while, how they cross the street to the other side where the church is. They pass a bench under a massive tree which, judging by its appearance, must have been there for tens, maybe hundreds of years. Remarkable. Someone is sitting on the bench. It is an older gentleman. He is reading newspapers and having the morning dosage of coffee. He looks up and calls Mr Rodger’s name. I suppose they are friends since Mr Rodgers shakes hands with him promptly, grinning from ear to ear. Both are sitting on the bench, chatting. Penny is happily running around, sniffing Mr Rodgers friend’s shoes. Passing ‘The Greyhound’ pub, I carry on my way and cross the street as well.

The sun is shining. A few colourful leaves remain attached to the trees. Little birds are chirruping to greet the new morning. So mellifluous to one’s ears. Thanks to the gentle breeze, I can feel the riverbank very nearby. Not far away ahead of me, I notice the so characteristic sign; the white rectangle with big red letters, saying ‘BOOKSHOP.’ It stands right in the middle of the pavement so everyone can see it. I speed up a bit since I am so excited to go inside. The building itself is very attractive. It is quite small, although ample to store all those beautiful books. It is covered with white wooden panels. The colour is peeled off at some places, which suggests the number of years the building has been standing there. Quite a lot, I guess. The front facade flaunts with its large shop window, through which all the books are on display. Astonishing. There is an alleyway by the side of the building which leads to the entrance. There is also a backyard with tables and chairs. I went there a few times in the past to read through my new books. It is a beautiful spot. I come in, greet the bookshop’s owner and become absorbed in the book land. I am leaving with Marilyn Monroe’s bibliography in photographs, wishing a nice day to the old lady.

It has got a bit chilly while I was inside the bookshop. I put my hoodie on and take a sip of my coffee. Still very warm. On my way down the street, I stop at one little bakery shop which is only a few houses away from the bookshop. Baked goods are an absolute necessity for my everyday breakfast. I come in. It is pleasantly warm inside. And those baked goods smell so good! I pick a cinnamon roll today, still almost hot when the lady passes it to me. With all I need for a perfect morning, I carry on down the street towards the riverbank.

It is empty down here. I occupy a seat on my favourite bench, a wooden one by the riverside. I make myself comfortable and take out the book, but I do not read it now. I watch the river flowing. It is very tranquil today, driven only by the gentle breeze. The sun is coming up again. I can see the endless woods and fields spreading behind the river as if leading one’s eyes somewhere else, somewhere to the world beyond.