Resolve and execute, I expected. Sacrifice, not so much.
Once the calendar turned from Summer to Fall, I decided to make a point to vary my daily walk route at least once a week.
One weekday last week, I'd gone down to Belle Isle on one of those surprisingly summer-like October days and enjoyed a couple of loops around the island, passing a surprising number of joggers, mountain bikers and weekday tourists on the rocks.
I'd run into a park employee and asked for the story on the missing quarry pond deck.
According to him it had begun to decay and separate, so they'd taken it down. Happily, he assured me a new one was in the island's future.
Crossing back over the pedestrian bridge, I'd passed a woman in pearls returning from the island.
It struck me as so odd that I told her she was the first pearl-wearer I'd ever seen returning from the rocks and she laughed at the accolade.
All in all, it had been a delightful change from my usual urban walk.
When I woke up today, it was to a much grayer day, but no less appealing for heading to Belle Isle.
As a friend put it, there was a bit of oppressiveness in the air, no doubt the impending effects of Karen.
Once I arrived at the island's parking lot, I was especially glad I'd come today since Folk Fest preparations included a sign saying that starting tomorrow, those who parked in the lot would be towed.
Last chance access.
Not surprisingly, the island had far fewer visitors today, although a higher percentage of Moms with strollers than last week.
On my first loop by the water, I saw a flock of geese standing in the shallows, some on rocks and others with their feet submerged.
There was an occasional honk, but not much more out of them.
After a couple of turns around the island, I walked out on the rocks by the first rapids to enjoy the gusty breezes and cool down.
Before long, I decided to go for it, taking off my shoes and socks, only to catch sight of something white flying by me.
Sure enough, one sock had taken flight and landed in the river well out of reach.
The wind and water were moving so quickly that all I could do was watch it float outward and eventually downward.
Oh, well. I went ahead and put my legs in the water as I'd intended to and admired the geese facing into the wind just as I was.
The way I figure it, the sock was just a sacrifice to the weather goddess.
Walking back across the bridge, it didn't start raining until I stepped off the bridge.
I'm not sure if I had impeccable timing or if goddess Karen was just looking out for her own.
Either way, I'm liking this new walking ritual. Even when it requires a sacrifice.