On walking the same route

At the old house, my usual walk took about forty minutes. I went down to the river, crossed the footbridge and came back through the streets behind the shops. If I needed bread, it took longer. If it was raining, I sometimes persuaded myself that the shorter loop counted.

After a few years I knew where the pavement stayed wet, which gate opened towards me and where I could stand to let a bicycle pass. I didn't have to make decisions about the route. This left me free to think about whatever had sent me outside.

I noticed changes in a rather uneven way. A tree lost a branch and I saw it immediately. A shop changed its sign and I missed it for weeks. I knew a dog by name long before I knew the name of its owner. We eventually introduced ourselves during a conversation about bins.

Since moving in October, I have tried several routes from the new house. For a while I used a map, mostly to avoid discovering that an inviting lane ended at someone's garden. There is no river nearby, but there is a long stone wall, a small square and a path that climbs past a stand of trees.

The uphill section is less attractive when I am actually on it than when I am describing it from a chair. I stop at the top, ostensibly to look at the view. From there I can see the pale roofs below and, on a clear day, the road disappearing beyond them.

I am beginning to recognise people. A woman walks two dogs with very different ideas about speed. A man cleans the front window of his shop whether it appears to need cleaning or not. We say good morning. That is the extent of most of these acquaintances, and I am glad to have them.

I still enjoy walking somewhere unfamiliar. I like getting lost when I have time and a charged phone. But on a workday, when I need to go outside without turning it into an outing, I am grateful for a route that is becoming easy to follow.

Yesterday I came home with bread, although I hadn't meant to buy any. There is a bakery on the way back. I suspect this route will last.