winter walks

My mom is an avid walker. She works at an elementary school, and when she comes home it's usually, "I think I'll go out for a nice 4-miler. Want to come?"
I usually do--and these days I make sure I'm bundled up with wool socks and long johns. It's a tough balance, because you work up a sweat fast.
We had to leave Oliver behind today, because he's had a lame leg for a while. Poor guy.

I like the excercise, but the real reason I go is to share the time with my mom. Walking always stimulates good talks. I think the best conversations happen side by side, moving in a common direction, instead of sitting at a table or looking eachother in the eye. I can't explain it, but they do. Words and motion seem to act together nicely.

We talk about difficulties and fears, mostly, and family, and about spots we're wearing thin and showing our frailness. There's just the steady pace of walking and words.
I feel I've gotten to know my mother in a new way, like a real person instead of a mother and all that role entails. I start to see my sister and my dad through her eyes, and this increases their humanity too. I start to see myself through her eyes, and see again the miracle and wonder of generations and inheritances.

Today we got back to the house in the dark, in a calm snowfall. The lights were on inside and a fire was roaring in the woodstove. I peeled off all my sweaty layers and had a glass of water.