happy trails to me

Change is good. At least, 99.44% of the time.

Just like Ivory soap.

Due to two recent injury-inducing nighttime falls while walking the streets of Barra de Navidad, I have restricted my walking regime to the upper terrace in my house. It is a great walking track, but for all of its advantages, it means that I need to make 600 laps to fit in a daily 20-mile walk.

Some people may enjoy going around in circles. I don't -- even though there are certainly those who would argue otherwise concerning my opinions about music. On Saturday morning, I decided the circle needed to be squared. I would head off to an area of Barra I have not visited recently.

One of the early plans to develop Barra was to connect the two sides of the laguna with a causeway. It was never completed. But the portion that was is still there. It acts as a utility conduit to get water and electricity to the grand hotel on the other side of the water from Barra.

The peninsula has turned into a multi-use area -- when the gate is unlocked. Even though there was once a road wide enough for a car and a motorcycle to pass one another, years of restricting the road to pedestrians (and motorcycles) has reduced the road to a footpath. And that footpath is perfect for a peaceful walk.

When the pathway opens up, there are sweeping views of the laguna, the marina, and the big hotel. But its biggest attraction for me is its wildlife. There are always plenty of birds. And lizards. And, now and then, a commuting crocodile.

During October and November, the nature display shifts to feature wildflowers. Admittedly, they are nowhere near as showy as the fields of wildflowers in the highlands of Mexico. But, in their subtle way, they are just as interesting. And diverse.

In the past, readers have identified the names of the flowers. Unfortunately, I do not remember them. They have slipped away to visit the names of my grade school teachers. If you are so inclined, feel free to slap an appellation on each of these. Preferably, its scientific name.

Especially, this one. I always look forward to these orchid-like blooms coming on. They remind me of individual lupines.

I am not very fond of red flowers, but these tiny ones are little gems. Both in their intricate detail and color.

The brightest of the lot are the few yellow flowers that show up accessorizing the rest of the weeds. And weeds they are. That is the nature of wildflowers. Of course, someone will undoubtedly point out that one person's weed is another person's political hero.

For numbers, these purple flowers outnumber all of the others. At least, on the peninsula. They could easily serve as a groundcover. In fact, I think I have seen them used for that purpose. Along beaches. To root dunes in place.

I know that some gardeners do not share my fascination with wildflowers. They are more prone to find cultivated specimens (like the one below) far more to their taste. Those captured and pampered blooms strike me as being just a bit too prissy. Not that I dislike them. They simply are not as spontaneously attractive as their wild cousins.

For some reason A.E. Housman's poem came to mind while I was hiking the peninsula trail. You know the one. We all had to memorize it in grade school:

Loveliest of trees, the cherry now
Is hung with bloom along the bough,
And stands about the woodland ride
Wearing white for Eastertide.

Now, of my threescore years and ten,
Twenty will not come again,
And take from seventy springs a score,
It only leaves me fifty more.

And since to look at things in bloom
Fifty springs are little room,
About the woodlands I will go
To see the cherry hung with snow.

By Housman's reckoning (and that of Psalm 90:10), I am operating on borrowed time -- now being almost three years past my pull date. Maybe that is why I take to heart the spirit of his writing.

No matter how much time I have to wander the woodlands, it is always good to know there are "things in bloom." And they are not on a circular track.