Moon's walk

   I can't remember the last time I began my morning walk in Golden Gate Park when it was light outside. Suffice it to say, it's been a while.

   At this time of year, it usually takes at least forty five minutes before the sun even begins to illuminate this part of the world. Until then, my recognition of the people around me is primarily reliant on experience, but also on the sounds that they make.

   This morning, as I walked the western stretch of Stow Lake for the second time around, I heard the familiar steps of an elderly Asian man that walks there regularly named Moon. I knew for pretty certain that it was him from what must have been sixty or seventy feet away because of his particular gait; he drags his feet as he walks, but manages to do so in a kind of hushed way. In my observations, it is particular to him.

   Continuing on, and passing other walkers for the next few minutes, I soon approached Moon again, and decided to tell him how I had been able to recognize him by his walk earlier. Although he seemed a bit confused as to why I was telling him this information, he didn't appear upset, and even thanked me.
   I don't know why, but I felt a little bad after our encounter, wondering if I had perhaps offended him. I thought about why I had told him what I did, and even though it maybe hadn't been clear to me at the time, I realized later that I told him because I was pleased when I saw him. The sound of his footsteps made me happy.
   I thought for a moment about dogs, and how they become excited when they hear their master approaching the front door after they've been out a while. I realized that in a similar way, hearing Moon made me happy, too.