Walk

I was taking a walk. They say the first step is the hardest and that’s generally true. You have to stand up, groan, lace up and tie your shoes, and even then you’re only physically prepared. But not mentally; that takes more effort, something which is very difficult to gain. Effort is like a precious commodity that nobody wants, it’s like seeing a golden necklace embedded with fine pearls thrown into some dumpster in the slums and left there to be picked up by the trash people when they came every week and live out its necklace-life rotting in some shit-ass landfill.
Anyhow, I had none of these problems. I was so used to it that it really did not take too much effort at all, the amount comparable to maybe standing up and walking yourself to the door. The door in question in this particular situation that I was in was tall and white and made of wood. About eight feet tall, maybe 5 feet wide. It was a pretty average sized door, but nobody was really caring. The white paint wasn’t chipped or faded, but you somehow knew, just by looking at it, that it wasn’t new and had in fact been there for quite some time. The peep-hole was small and inconsequential to the story, even more than the dimensions of the door, as the peep-hole was not and will not be used. The door, however, will. But let us now turn our attention to the handle. It was made of iron with a sort of greenish tint, and very curvy. It was one of those handles that one has to push down on rather hard and then push forward to open the door. I did what I just described and passed through the threshold and into the outside world.
It was a little bit chilly out, with gray and cloudy skies, which always seem to both lift and drag down my spirits and the same time. It was a day where there was about a seventy percent chance that it would rain. I left it up to chance but brought a hooded sweater just in case things got wet. A bird let out a screech as it ran rather comically into a birch tree, dropping its dinner out of its beak in the process. It was odd, really, I felt sorry for the bird, the way it looked at the worm crawling away, it was probably going to go hungry. Yet, I felt glad for the worm, narrowly escaping the jaws of its predators and crawling heroically away. The worm, I thought, was Superworm. Then the bird at the worm. So much for superpowers.
I walked farther away from my house, into a trail into the woods. The woods were comprised mostly of birch trees, and the animal life was mainly ravens and spiders. The webs, they crisscrossed all over the top of the forest, in between the tops of the trees like some demonic cross word puzzle that there is no answer to except fear, the strongest emotion. Fear propels like no propellant, propelling into love, hatred, war, peace, anger, tension, betrayal, sabotage, and a number of other pleasant and unpleasant things. If money was power, then fear was richer than Rockefeller.
Continuing my walk, I fell into the sort of daydream one normally gets while one is walking through the woods. The daydreams of the epitomes of all your hopes and dreams, and idyllic version of your future life, every failure in your life rectified and gone, no worries, just happiness. This warm glow would be in your chest all the time, everywhere you went, everything you did would be just perfect and if it wasn’t you would make it that way because you were perfect and your life was perfect and everything was just so great. Don’t you wish, sometimes, maybe those daydreams would come true? Well, I guess that’s the point of daydreams, wishful thinking. What you wish your life was, what it isn’t. I sighed and decided there was nothing I could do but keep walking down the forest path.