I put on a long-sleeved shirt; it was a nice day, with a slight breeze. The morning sun was behind a thin cloud-cover, just above the trees.
Another walker was ambling toward me: he was wearing a toque and a light ski-jacket. His beard was stippled with shades of red ochre.
“Good morning,” I said, raising my right-hand in a half-wave.
His face broke into a wide grin and, through a slight Scottish brogue, he said, “Aye; and a good mornin’ to you.”
Next, I ‘met’ a young man on his first-floor-condo-balcony; he was smoking a cigarette, wearing only boxers and a dark sports-jacket. He told me a joke I didn’t understand, but won’t repeat, just in case its dirty.
I turned west on 108th: a small Asian woman was plucking young fiddle-head ferns along the grass-lined boulevard. She smiled and nodded at me as I passed.
I walked around the block, stopping to sip my coffee every now and then.
It was a good walk.