Senior Moments: Walking the neighborhood as the days slowly get longer

“We’re going to get you when you least expect it,” the pregnant clouds tell me.

But I walk anyway. The thought of catching extra moments of daylight propel me onto the sidewalk, a ring-side seat to the lengthening of days.

I love the opening ceremony.

It reminds me of cookie dough that has been curled into a ball, then opens gracefully under the turns of a rolling pin. With each turn, a little more dough appears and the excitement mounts. I extend my arms to embrace the day expanding like cookies baking.

“Just making it home before the rain?” a neighbor calls out. But that is not my goal.

My head is fighting to give space to four stories that are forming. I’m trying not to let indecision keep me from selecting one to write. If you are reading this, I must have prevailed.

The light of today has elongated to 5:28 p.m., three more minutes than when I checked two days ago. I am hoping it will last another two minutes to the half-hour mark. That way I can experience the giant leap from dreary December when light bade the world good night just a hair before 5 o’clock.

Now I am dancing as I walk, a very soft two-step that might turn into a twirl if a raindrop kisses my nose before I arrive home … ifdusk holds off just one more minute. Evening walks speak to me of time passing and time standing still.

Home now, and excited that darkness gifted me with three unexpected minutes before arriving. I do a gentle twirl in my little courtyard and thank the blackness for cloaking me in privacy. Should I lose balance and fall into the arms of the sleeping hibiscus, my silliness will be curtained from the dog walkers caught in the rain with their charges.

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I take one more spin before I go into the house. In the pinch of a memory, I see a small girl in a pink tutu, with eyes the color of mine. She dances before running into the night to catch the fireflies of her childhood in Virginia.

Email Patricia Bunin at Patriciabunin@sbcglobal.net.