This section is labeled “A Writer’s Reflections,” which surely covers a lot of ground, since reflecting is mostly what this writer does – including a lot of rumination on why more writing isn’t happening in this writer’s life.

These days, xx weeks mostly at home and not counting anymore, I’ve been covering a lot of ground literally. A mile or two around the neighborhood at lunchtime, another mile or two around the same neighborhood in the evening, sometimes a mile in the morning before the work day takes over. That was great until it wasn’t. My neighborhood is a loop of exactly 0.9 miles and I just didn’t want to see it anymore. Between The Criterion Channel and Turner Classics, I could take in one or two great noir movies a night, and so I landed on the couch.

That’s research, of course. Sure. Getting in the right frame of mind to write. Uh-huh.

These days, xx weeks mostly at home and not counting anymore, I’ve been covering a lot of ground literally. A mile or two around the neighborhood at lunchtime, another mile or two around the same neighborhood in the evening, sometimes a mile in the morning before the work day takes over. That was great until it wasn’t. My neighborhood is a loop of exactly 0.9 miles and I just didn’t want to see it anymore. Between The Criterion Channel and Turner Classics, I could take in one or two great noir movies a night, and so I landed on the couch.

This section is labeled “A Writer’s Reflections,” which surely covers a lot of ground, since reflecting is mostly what this writer does – including a lot of rumination on why more writing isn’t happening in this writer’s life.

So more days flew by. “Key Largo.” “Lady in the Lake.” “Out of the Past.” “Deadline USA.” “Clash by Night.” “Cash on Demand.” “The Third Man.” “The Strange Love of Martha Ivers.”  — just to name a few, as the phrase goes. Fascinating characters, memorable dialogue, clever plotting, indelible performances, haunting cinematography, depressing insights into American society – a compact course for any student of the human heart.

But come walk with me, because with so much to digest, I’m out walking again.

The more I walk, the more I see and the more my brain makes connections. I often come back from a walk relaxed yet bubbling over with ideas. Walking is said to be the only exercise that stimulates creativity, a “natural” meditation that simultaneously frees and engages the mind. Among famous thinker/walkers are Tesla, Thoreau and the Brontes.

I have two rules when I walk – no headphones and a focus.

For example, for a walk I took a few months ago, I set out to look for yellow. That’s when I discovered there was very little yellow in nature or elsewhere in March. Fire hydrants and Pennsylvania license plates were about the only things apparent. But then the spring flowers started blooming and there was yellow everywhere – daffodils, aconite, tulips, forsythia, crocus. It was the dominant color, until it was jostled aside by whites and pinks and then by reds and purples as the season progressed. Yellow is still with us, but it won’t come into its own again until fall.

What I noticed today is how much more hostile the vegetation is now that summer has arrived. Massive thistles bloom along the walking trail here, and blackberry brambles bristle with unripe green and red fruit. Bindweed and wild grape strangle everything in their grasp. Invisible things rustle in the heavy undergrowth. Dark trees block out the sun. Apart from a scolding crowd of wrens, the only sound is the crunch of my feet as I feel my way on the stony path. The outside world is only steps yet miles away.

It could be the opening scene in a noir novel. Maybe it will be.