If it’s under 80 degrees by 8 a.m., I’m out the door. Friday is Sabino Canyon day. All the recent rain popped circles of orange blossoms atop barrel cacti. Ocotillo branches are leafing out again. The verdant Catalinas harbor happy creatures, I’m guessing; bighorn sheep, black bears, wild turkeys, and other vegans munch on tall grasses high above hikers.

It’s a gray, cool as fall day.

“Hi Mr. Sabino Canyon,” I call out, as the African-American man runs up the canyon.

“Hi kiddo,” he responds, connecting briefly for a fist pump.

“How often do you come up here?” He’s there whenever I am, imagining pre-Tucsonan native people navigating their horses in the 9,000-plus feet Catalina Mountains.

“Oh, four to six times a week,” he smiles.  “Nice to see you!”

He greets every passerby. I don’t know his name. Next time perhaps I’ll ask.

“It must be fall,” I repeat to Dan. Walking weather will improve as 100-plus days subside.

I require destinations for my ambling. Saturday mornings take me to the Douglas Spring Trail at Speedway’s end. A post-walking visit to Farmer Joe’s Tanque Verde Farm sparks my weekend with tender purple eggplants, pungent arugula (a weed aka rocket plant), stunning pink beets, and a tiny snack bag of tiny tomatoes to explode in my mouth on my drive home.

Later in the day if it’s cool enough I’ll walk to a movie at the Loft or El Con.

Yesterday I saw “The Cakemaker” (really good but I’d like to discuss). “Three Identical Strangers” mysteriously unraveled as last week’s date night stroll.

Spike Lee’s “Black Klansman” is playing at El Con. Good reason for an early afternoon walk. I watched many young people streaming into the nearly full theatre. Perhaps they’ll learn some essential history about the Civil Rights Movement?

Walking governs my life like a benevolent dictator.