Recently, we’ve been in a stretch of above normal, spring-like November weather. It’s a bit incongruous to be out in shorts and a t-shirt under balmy blue skies and warm temps, while shuffling through piles of autumn leaves.

That said, it’s meant for glorious days that beg for a walk, and I’ve obliged as much as I can. Out recently, I decided to walk from our place in mid-town Toronto to meet my wife in Leslieville. It’s an easy walk, mostly downhill through the heart of the city, and as I was out, I got to thinking about it in terms of numbers.

There are numbers about the walk itself – about10km, about 1:45 minutes, 20 C, etc. And then there are numbers about things along the way, like how many parks I passed by or cut through – 7 of them, if you count Riverdale East and Riverdale West as two parks. Or the bridges that I crossed over or under – 5 as I recall, including the delightful Glen Road pedestrian bridge over the Rosedale Valley.

And what about the number of languages I overheard as I walked – there were at least 6 I think, not counting English – French, Arabic, Hindi, Italian, Spanish, and what I think was Cantonese and Russian. Plus, at least 6 accents to the English voices I overheard – mid-Canadian, north-east American, Caribbean, English, Irish, and South African.

I also passed by 3 cemeteries at Mount Pleasant, St. Michaels, and St. James, and marvelled at the gorgeous colour in each.

I stopped counting upscale cars very quickly, as in passing through Rosedale every drive seemed to have multiple examples. I did count 1 completely over-the-top car, however – a Rolls-Royce middle-finger-to-the-world SUV that was more tank than anything else, that rolled majestically through Cabbagetown down the middle of the road piloted by a blond middle-aged woman who may as well have had “Karen” stamped on her forehead.

I also stopped counting the number of people I saw who were also out for a stroll – dozens of fellow walkers, all in Lululemon it seemed, and ranging from new parents with infants to retired couples in their 80’s. Will they still be out in January when it’s -20?

Countless as well were the number of scents and aromas that I could distinguish as I passed – cannaboid funk in many places, 5-spice cookery along Broadview in old east Chinatown, frying onions from a dozen pubs, and everywhere autumn leaves, along with stale urine in the Glen road underpass, and the dreary pall of diesel exhaust.

All along the way, there was only one real constant, and that was the clear blue above as it danced through the golden leaves.

And there was only one ridiculously cute great-nephew whom I met at the end of my walk – Miles, named after mine and my nephew’s favourite musician. Kinda blue, just like the sky.