Out walking this morning, I’m
shocked to find that nature has gotten along just fine without me. This time
I’m not heading into the woods. I’m walking on the streets of my neighborhood.
I haven’t been outside for a
week, not really, being busy with tasks inside the house. I don’t count driving
to the store as being outdoors. The car is just a mobile room.
In the meantime, the leaves
have popped out on trees and converted their empty branches to umbrellas of
thick green. Bushes and plants are flowering, and birds are filling the air
with chirps, chortles, whistles, and songs.
As my walking settles into a
rhythm, my breathing speeds up to match the pace of my legs. My thoughts slow down
to move at the pace of my breathing. Mind and body reconnect, unlike when I sit
at my desk and work with my mind, ignoring the needs of my body until I stand
up stiff, hungry, and dehydrated.
I walk without any destination.
There are no stores or cafes in my neighborhood. And I walk without worrying if
I’m moving fast enough for this to count as exercise.
I try not to think about the
projects waiting for me at home, and just walk, noticing what catches my
attention, what thoughts show up on their own, what feelings surface, and let
them flow by. I walk free of everything but what is in this moment, and I move
at whatever speed feels right.
As I walk, I loosen the
ligaments of my brain that I’ve strapped down to get work done. I let thoughts
and feelings run and play. I marvel at the balanced architecture of an oak tree,
bend down and examine the pink and lavender colors of Virginia bluebells, see a
hollow at the base of a tree and imagine a hobbit or a Keebler elf living
there. When I notice a squirrel watching me, I stare at it to see which one of
us blinks first.
It’s irresponsible, I know,
to walk with no purpose other than joy. But I do. People nod as I pass by, wondering where I’m going and
why I’m walking. They have no clue that I’ve escaped and on the loose.
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