In a word: halcyon

To show a little more of what my morning was like–a gentle saunter down part of the River Trail, Kerrville’s #3 ranked “Top Things To Do” here by Trip Advisor (as if Trip Advisor knew what was worthy of seeing, because they have to rank Kerrville and New York City alongside the likes of Hackensack, New Jersey and Sioux City, Iowa…or, more to the point, Trip Advisor allows reviews by people who visit here and also Hackensack and who may have a palette attuned more to Applebee’s than Le Cirque)–and even though this is a black-and-white blog, I’m going to leave a lot of the green in on the photos I post.

The walk, in a word, was halcyon.

Which is what any highly caffeinated (even before my first cup of coffee) New Yorker needs when moving to Kerrville.

By the way, #2 here is The Museum of Western Art. (It is now, at 3:17pm Central Time, ranked #3, behind The Big Ol’ Rusted Cross (#1) and the Kerrville Hills Winery, which somehow, the Applebee’s crowd snuck in there above the River Trail, sometime between last night and this morning when I made my pre-dawn decision to go to the river. It’s like I said, most people who tour Hackensack are bloated from Applebee’s, so they pray at the Big Ol’ Cross before having a glass of wine or two, and then they go onto Trip Advisor and say things like, [actual review] “We stopped by for a wine tasting & really enjoyed our visit!!” I ask you, does that sound like the review of someone who would choose a halcyon walk alongside a lazy river early in the morning over a trip to Applebee’s followed by getting some “FREE GOD STUFF” over at the Big Ol’ Cross? The Museum of Western Art, by the way, is where my wedding reception was 21 years ago, when it was called The Cowboy Artists Museum (a much better name). I would rank that #1 any day.

So, I’m walking, and I’m noticing these little black bugs. Trilobites or something. They move slowly, and I find myself being very careful not to step on any of them, so the experience becomes even more Zen. And I walk even more slowly, and I notice that on most of the concrete squares of the path there is only one little trilobite on it, making her or his little way across it, hoping I or a biker or a jogger (especially one who is weighed down by an Applebee’s Thursday night special) doesn’t come along and curtail its 100 million years of evolution.

It might have been my Zen-like state.

It might have been that I had not had a real coffee-time yet.