walking in chill air
beside the frozen creek
warm words
Posts Tagged ‘walking’
One Connection
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged connection, conversation, family, walking, winter on December 26, 2020| Leave a Comment »
Learner
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged Amy Irvine, edge, friendship, knowledge, learning, walking on October 28, 2020| 1 Comment »
Just because I don’t see the edge
doesn’t mean the edge isn’t there.
Walking with Amy through the scrub oak woods,
I had no idea that just to my right
was a deep canyon. I could have walked on for miles
believing the world was flat
if she hadn’t suggested we walk off the trail
to see the gaping chasm.
It wasn’t that she was trying to teach me,
she was just doing what she does—
straying from the path to see what else is there.
Now I am looking everywhere for edges—
in every conversation, in every thought.
Now, I am looking at everyone as a teacher.
I have no idea what they see that I don’t.
Wanting to Get It Right
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged ars poetica, journey, path, perspective, walking on August 24, 2020| 2 Comments »
Who is this woman so concerned with arrivals?
Doesn’t she know we are writing about paths?
What is her rush to get to the meadow?
What does she think she will find there?
She missed the sunflowers in the garden,
a whole row of luscious bright yellow bloom.
She missed the chatter of the chipmunk,
the hot scent of rabbit brush almost like sage,
the mica glistening like crushed starlight beneath her feet.
She is like one of those trucks on the highway,
a blur, a roar, an impersonal thundering.
Oh, see, now that she thinks she’s arrived somewhere,
now she starts noticing the field,
the crunch of dry grass, the dirt, her own short shadow.
Funny, she looks lost, standing there with her pen and paper,
her longing to find something worthwhile to say.
Should we tell her it’s okay,
that the lack of arrival could be her new point A?
And everywhere she looks, a new path.
Oblivious
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged bear, fear, walking on August 23, 2020| 2 Comments »
Don’t tell the woman
walking on the dirt road
that there’s a large bear
six feet to her right
in the dense spruce woods—
at the rate she’s walking
she’ll be past it soon,
and what she doesn’t know
isn’t hurting her for now.
What good comes
from knowing all the dangers
life may not have in store?
See, she’s past the bear now.
She’s talking to the squirrel
who chatters wildly above her.
And, looking across the road
at the light glinting off the river,
she’s smiling, not even knowing
just how many reasons
she has to smile.
*By the way, friends, I DO think it’s important to be prepared, even if (especially if?) you’re oblivious. I carry bear spray with me on my walks, and I really was six feet from the bear, yikes. But we stared at each other and it was disinterested in me, whew. And I hightailed it outta there.
Freedom
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged freedom, road, walking on April 17, 2020| 6 Comments »
To walk alone
on the dirt road.
Whatever the weather,
to be grateful for it.
To step and step
and step again—
not toward an end,
but for the joy
of stepping.
Squirrel tail.
Creek scent.
Swish of last year’s leaves.
Nowhere to be
but here.
And the next here.
And next.To know
the self as traveler.
To know the self
as road.
To know each step
as freedom when
there’s nowhere
to go.
The Steep Road
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged challenge, Corona Virus, Donna Burd Fernald, friendship, walking on March 15, 2020| 6 Comments »
for Donna
Today, for an hour,
I let the only news be
my body, my friend,
and the road we walked on.
Our footsteps kept time
to our chatter. We
spoke of family and fear,
health and uncertainty,
friendship and transformation.
We smiled and worried
and reveled in the day.
The hills were steep,
and we liked it that way.
Later I try to remember this—
how sometimes I choose
a challenging path on purpose.
How all the while
we huffed up the hill,
we were surrounded
by bird song, by laughter.
How speaking of difficult things
makes them less frightening.
How the road was a pleasure
when we walked it together.
Walking on the Fall Creek Road
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged connection, friendship, walking on January 31, 2020| 4 Comments »
Despite the fact the road is empty
there’s a way that two friends
will bump into each other as they walk,
as if they are two wine glasses clinking,
toasting to the trees around them,
to the cold clear air, to the laughter
that rises, to the joy of finding themselves
walking the same road at the same time.
Thanksgiving
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged gratitude, poem, poetry, thanksgiving, walking on November 28, 2019| Leave a Comment »
Perhaps that is when Thanksgiving
matters most—when you
walk the empty street alone,
scarred and scared and unsure.
That’s when giving thanks
becomes less of an abstract and more
like the way to take a next breath—
something that seems elusive, but
in fact it’s essential, and it’s right there,
just waiting for you to meet it,
to open yourself, to let it in.
Yes, for now it feels worthy of thanks
that the air is cool and clean and feels
good in the lungs, and the feet know
to walk you closer toward yourself
and the day holds you, holds you
in its soft gray arms, throws
a carpet of dry leaves at your feet,
suggests you keep walking into your life.
Walking at Night
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged night, poem, poetry, walking on November 11, 2019| 6 Comments »
One way to open your eyes is to ask yourself, “What if I had never seen this before? What if I knew I would never see it again?
—Rachel Carson
And so I memorize how it is
that the cheeks nearly freeze
but the body’s so warm,
how the river informs every measure
but the thoughts sift to silence,
how the body thrills
in its ability to swing one foot
in front of the other, how
walking is just another name
for recovering from falling,
how strange it seems now
that I was once afraid of the dark.
Yes, That’s When
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged body, body image, nature, poem, poetry, walking on May 23, 2019| 2 Comments »
I like my body when I’m in the woods
and I forget my body. I forget that arms,
that legs, that nose. I forget that waist,
that nerve, that skin. And I aspen. I mountain.
I river. I stone. I leaf. I path. I flower.
I like when I evergreen, current and berry.
I like when I mushroom, avalanche, cliff.
And everything is yes then, and everything
new: wild iris, duff, waterfall, dew.
this poem can be found in Hush (Middle Creek Press, 2020)
One Friendship
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged poem, poetry, walking, winter on February 5, 2019| 4 Comments »
—for Kyra
walking the icy hill
every step a triumph—
and us,
crazy enough
to walk it together
Bushwhack
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged falling, hiking, journey, lesson, poem, poetry, road, walking on February 2, 2019| 2 Comments »
I followed the road as if it were a teacher.
It went up, I went up. It turned, I turned.
It was a long time before I relearned
that the road is not the only way to go.
The first day I walked away from the gravel,
I fell. That was the day I learned
staying upright is not what’s most important.
Up the Hill
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged friendship, hill, poem, poetry, walking on August 22, 2018| 2 Comments »
You walk fast,
she said, and
I said, I was walking
fast to keep up
with you, and
she said, I was
walking fast to
keep up with you
and we laughed
at ourselves as
our feet found
a new rhythm,
our hearts, too.
Getaway
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged nature, poem, poetry, walking, work on December 12, 2017| 2 Comments »
Even on a Monday it can happen,
you step out of the office
and instead of going to your car
or making another call or running
to the bank, your feet
and legs conspire to move you
toward the woods where after
only ten minutes you are more breath
than brain, more here than anywhere else—
water drips in the creek bed,
sunlight pushes through empty branches,
and at your sides your arms swing
as if they were made for this.
I’m Not Saying We Shouldn’t Be Angry
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged anger, forgiveness, Inuit, poem, poetry, walking on September 12, 2017| 89 Comments »
I’m not saying we shouldn’t be angry.
Anger seems reasonable. But perhaps
we will do what I’ve heard the Inuit do—
spend the emotion on walking, walk a line
until all the anger has left our bodies.
The moment the Inuit notice the anger is gone,
replaced, perhaps, by sadness or fear,
compassion or just a quietness,
they mark that spot with an object
to show the extent of their anger.
And perhaps, if we’re lucky, when we walk
this way, it will be a long enough walk
that we arrive at each other’s doors,
object in hand, and when the object
leaves our grip, we’ll be able to use our hands
to greet each other, touch each other’s faces,
point to the horizon to all the other places
we might choose to walk now together.
One Month Out of ICU
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged gratitude, poem, poetry, recovery, walking on August 27, 2017| Leave a Comment »
walking four blocks with my mother,
every step an arrival,
every step a reason to praise
Just When You Needed It
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged poem, poetry, prayer, walking on August 27, 2017| Leave a Comment »
Before you slog the next mile,
God sits beside you
and rubs your feet and ankles,
tells you jokes,
and spills his heart to you—
the next day,
still exhausted,
you find yourself laughing
grateful to have feet.
Directions
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged path, poem, poetry, rededication, walking on November 10, 2016| 4 Comments »
It is not that the path
has disappeared. It is only
that, stunned with grief
and kicked by fear,
we sometimes lose our will
to put one foot
in front of the other.
But we are not lost.
Already in the dark
we have found each other.
What astonishes is
that there are so many of us,
and already
we are building bridges
made of light.
The world shakes,
we stumble
and we help each other rise,
and now it is time
for us again to put one foot in front of the other—
not to escape what frightens us
but to walk unflinchingly
toward the messy center of things.
The path we choose now
is not one we’ve walked or even seen before,
the path is one that appears
beneath our feet
with each step,
and we persist,
travelers in the frozen dark
who begin to see the light as it shapes the horizon
and know, though it’s cold,
that the change we dream of
has already begun to arrive.
But It’s Not the Same
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged partnership, poem, poetry, walking on April 22, 2014| 4 Comments »
Beside the moss
beside red rock
we walk, we walk
to the falls and talk
and long, long after
you have gone,
the empty space
you left near me
walks on with me
walks on.
As Far As My Life Has Gotten Me
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged aging, love, midlife, nature, poem, poetry, walking on October 21, 2012| 4 Comments »
Love says, ‘I am everything.’
Wisdom says, ‘I am nothing.’
Between these two my life flows.
–Sri Nisargadatta Maharaj
It is enough today
to walk. The road
is gravel. To the left,
dry fields. To the right,
dry grass and sage. Cottonwoods
line the wash. The time
was once when steeper
was better and faster
was the only way.
I was not happier then,
only faster. I still
throw my arms
up to the sky
and say here,
here I am, here I am.
My heart, seeing
the crow silhouetted
against the sun
still rises, nearly bursts
with strange joy.
Oh wings!
The old apple tree
beside the road
drops a misshapen apple
into my hand. Yellow
and tart, it is sweeter
than the bitterness of longing.
I eat it all.