Gray skies are gonna clear up . . .

Walking everywhere sounded so romantic.

As a suburban girl who grew up riding everywhere in the back of her parents’ minivan, I’ve never been one to entertain the idea of hoofing it anywhere. We have no real public transportation here in Southern Maryland; sidewalks are often a joke. I grew up on the side of a major highway just outside the Beltway in D.C., and walking? Yeah, no one walks. Not unless you have a death wish . . . or your car broke down.

When Spencer moved into his condo — our home, now — in town three years ago, we were so excited at the idea of being able to walk to things. I had visions of us stepping out for coffee on Saturday mornings, strolling the busy streets or walking to the town’s summer concerts when the weather gets warm. There are so many amenities within walking distance: restaurants, a theater, the post office, stores.

But do we walk there?

Rarely.

I’m going to go ahead and admit that I’m really the one at fault. Despite my get-healthy routines and life revamp in 2013, I’m . . . pretty lazy. And for most of the year, the weather in Maryland is humid or sticky or ugly or rainy or HOT, and I don’t play that. I was a woman made to wander the great indoors, and that’s generally how I like it.

But it’s spring. We’ve all been so cooped up for so long, the idea of spending another second in a dry, dark room is unbearable. It was so gorgeous last weekend, and the trees have finally begun to blossom. I guess I’m feeling nostalgic, too, because I know we won’t be here much longer. We won’t live in town past the spring, and I’m already feeling the twinges of that change.

Typical. Feeling sad before I need to, before I must.

So we walked to dinner last Wednesday, dodging cars and potholes in our journey to a local bar. We thought about eating outside, but the air was just a touch on the too-cool side for comfort. Groups of friends perched on wrought-iron tables on the patio, though, chatting and laughing and smoking the occasional cigarette. We watched the sunset through dusty windows, then stopped to capture the first buds of spring on our jaunt home.

We walked on Sunday, too — all the way to lunch with family and our local theater for a show. That was our farthest walk yet, and I thought about how good it felt to be footloose and fancy free in the sunshine. No worrying about parking lots or meters or tickets in town; no stress over getting “the right spot” at the busy matinee. Just the two of us in our light jackets, holding hands next to the train tracks.

Happy.

It figures I’d come around to the idea of taking my own two feet wherever we needed to be just in time for us to move on. Though our house will only be about a 10-minute drive away, it won’t be pedestrian-friendly.

But that’s okay. New times, new adventures.

And I know we’ll stroll again.