9:06 AM, August 22nd, 2014

black and white

I was uncertain, but kept going. I’ve already committed to this walk, so I cannot turn back. Over rocks and tree stumps I crawled, step by step over a terrain slightly familiar to me. Where does this path lead? Ah yes, now I remember.

I went on another walk. This time, it was in the morning. I’d resolved to run lots of mornings before, but rarely followed through on that intention. It’s just too much. I have to put on a sports bra and running shoes, and I’m always sweaty afterwards. But there’s a pink glow in my cheeks, and I look alive.

Can I get the same feeling from walking? No, but I love the experience equally.

Walking is more realistic. Walking is more approachable as an activity.

I forgot my earbuds, but decided to go along with it anyways.

I made my way across a soccer field in my flip flops and delighted at the dew that caught in between my toes and on the back of my ankles. My shoe squished-squashed in a puddle of mud but I trekked along.

I thought about many things but forgot them all as soon as I sat back in my car. And perhaps that’s for the best, because my purest thoughts stay lost in the greenest of woods.

I thought about how my walk was a metaphor for life, with lots of ups and downs, but everyone knows that. But do they realize that they bring the blades of grass and drops of dirt on the back of their calves from wet morning grass everywhere they walk?


Creds to Connor:

One comment

  1. Pingback: “The Angel” – The 18th of March 1963 – Milwaukee, Wisconsin | Forgotten Correspondence

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