I was never one for a stroll. I was one for four miles/hour walks through the mountains. And running.
And then well, you can’t do that forever unless you’ve got GREAT genes that give you a perfectly straight back and lined up bones in your legs and you never injure yourself in the meantime. I know a lot of people who are well-oiled machines well into their 80s, but I am not going to be such a one. I’m going to be one who enjoys a good stroll with a big white dog.
Fortunately for me, the big white dog has not known anything else and thinks that’s what people do in the great outdoors. They walk two miles/hour and stop whenever they see something beautiful.
My dog is great at this. I stop and she stops. She then leans against me (her breed is one of the leaning breeds) and we contemplate the distant horizon (snowy mountains) or we enjoy the icicles on a spruce tree or we share amazement at the way fog and clouds mingle across the plain in front of a cone-shaped outcropping. We watch geese, listen to cranes and watch a circling hawk.