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| Leave a Comment »
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)