Wrapped in plastic, a newspaper lies marooned in the middle of the street. It’s been delivered in the pouring rain. I picture a bygone delivery person hurriedly peddling a bicycle while randomly tossing papers toward, really, any building. I don’t know where this particular newspaper belongs. I think to pick it up, but don’t because it may just be exactly where it’s supposed to be, like all of us.

I’m on my morning walk. It starts across the Callicoon Bridge, PA to NY, where day in and out the same kingfisher taunts me. Sitting on the wire that overhangs the river, this bird watches as I come close and then angrily chatters before flying to a point further along where he knows I’ll pass again. We do this several times each morning. He loves it. I can tell.

As a spirit animal, the Kingfisher symbolizes luck because, it’s said, they can find hidden treasure on riverbeds. So far he’s presented none. It’s also said, that kingfishers represent wisdom through their ability to deep dive into the water with conviction and determination in search of food–even though there's no guarantee that they'll come back up again with any prize at all. I ask myself: Is this really wisdom or just plain foolhardiness?

I turn left onto the narrow two-way stretch of road that sidles along the river. It’s barely wide enough for one car let alone two. Last winter, while walking there, I was caught off guard by the figure of a man coming out of a blinding squall. Thank goodness it was someone I knew. We stopped and talked. I asked why he was walking in such a gale and he told me that since his beloved dog had passed, he felt the need to walk where they had always walked no matter the weather. How long had he been doing this? A year. I shared that my cat of sixteen years had died in my arms. We hugged before disappearing in opposite directions.

It’s summertime and the day is young. While walking, I take in the aroma of new earth and a hint of bayou; a scent that reminds me of childhood and all the summers spent on a similar river. Back then, the whole world was mine. I was invincible and filled with dreams. Now, as I walk, I remember the sensation of an unconquerable future.

This road, cradled by a choir of insects, will soon become vivid with bicyclists, dog walkers, toddlers with tubes around their tummies, monster trucks, bird watchers, fishermen and women in pocket rich vests, residents coming and going, vehicles schlepping boats, an artist with a limp, wildlife, wheelchairs, photographers, a loud minibike, parent’s with strollers, jockeying cars and more.

With no sidewalk, I’m aware that I have to walk facing the traffic. It’s actually the law. But it’s hardly possible in many places because the roadside dips so dramatically, I’d have to walk in a gulley to get past any car. The narrow gullies are often filled with water and just waiting for an ankle to twist. I do the best I can stepping aside and then waving at each car and truck as they pass though the glare on the windshield is often too bright for me to recognize the driver.

My mind is dreary with unsolved problems. I look up at the clouds and then at their magnificent reflection in the shimmering water. I spot a hawk, a stray tuxedo cat, a deer swimming, a pterodactyl (I mean Blue Heron) and the brown cap of an adolescent eagle. Today, a young child blew me a kiss. I try and use all of this presence to calm my mind as I continue to teeter on the pavement of a world where I only wish to be a better person.