Ramble with Storm: Impulses

Mulling things on my morning ramble with Storm, our family’s mixed Lab.

The car door to a running van was right in front of me as we passed the fire station downtown.

A nearly overwhelming impulse hit me. I wanted to tell the meathead to jump in, then just take off for a joy ride around the block. Return the van, but park it facing the other direction and turn it off.

I am a grown man and I had to fight the impulse, it was that strong. You know, start the new year with a bang.

It reminded me of the time as a young teen when our family was visiting Shenandoah Nation Park. We went to one of the highest points, I think it was Hawksbill Mountain, but I would not swear to it.

And I had a nearly overwhelming impulse to jump off the rocks and fly away. Just spread my arms and soar.

I happened to glance at my younger brother and the look we exchanged meant we both thought the same thing as we stared over the edge into the deep abyss.

We backed up slightly and returned to being sane human beings.

But those impulses I swear are what make us soar as human beings, what make us fully alive.

Back to rambling, felt mild by this winter’s standards as we set off to utter quiet. Other than the running van, I did not see or hear another vehicle, even though we set out later than usual.

Yeah, I was able to sleep in until about 6 this morning, a rarity for me. But then I did stay up to ring in the New Year with Janet Davies (she still does it for me) and Mark Giangreco.

I will give Miley Cyrus this, she seemed to be soaking in the whole experience at Times Square.

And I will give her this, she has pop power. I found the YouTube of “Wrecking Ball.” And it has 454 million views, 454,551,391 to be exact.

My pursuits are more solitary. The meathead and I did a slow ramble across the south end of the north old clay pit.

It was striking this morning not to hear any Canada geese on the lake to the west. I will have to check later today if winter finally won out and froze over their hole or if they departed for parts more to their liking.

A lone mourning dove flew off the side of the trail, formerly a side rail, above the south end of the south pit. A dozen doves flew around the grain elevators on the edge of town.

The bank thermometer had 20. That felt about right, though it was colder when the east-northeast winds hit.

Eight doves sat on the wires by the house west of the bus barn. Back home, the meathead flushed a gray squirrel off the front porch below our feeders.

And we rambled into 2014, from the moment to memory.


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