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IT WAS GETTING LATE. The sun was sinking in the sky. My yard man had gone to "pick up a mare." I was idling, reading the stale morning paper.

Suddenly, almost as if someone had prodded me with a sharp object, I bounded to my feet, ran upstairs and put on sneakers. Then--lickety split--I grabbed my car keys and was out the door. It took me exactly two and a fraction minutes to get to my park --the one where in olden times I used to take a daily walk.

I didn't waste a second getting to the walking path--did a quick warm-up stretch, and set out briskly. This was a leg-thrusting, arm swinging, deep breathing, man-does-this-ever-feel-good
type endeavor.

After twenty-eight minutes of walking (tip-toeing over the squishy-slippery areas of the path with my own blend of speed and caution), it was certifiably dark. I crunched across the gravel parking lot at break-neck speed (hmm, perhaps not quite that fast, although even there I had to watch for soggy areas where breaking one's neck was a real possibility). Without a pause, I leaped into the car (uh, huh), thrust the key into the ignition and was out of the parking lot in ten seconds flat (dear me, without really meaning to, I think I spun gravel). Two and and three quarter minutes to home.

Whee! That was exhilarating!

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