The surprise of hearing my own voice
like seeing slivers of light filtered between the trees
The words are whispered which I could have missed
Words of encouragement, a push
My eyes are closed, my attention sharpened
I am resting a bit after walking long
My breathing is trying to catch up with my steps
In trying to reach my goal I struggle
There are benches, handrails, sources of spring water
I am vulnerable but not feeble.
I am not alone, or helpless
Though night is approaching I am not lost.
Is it the wind or spirit descends from above the trees
A voice telling me a place in eternity
The place where I am going.
Sunny and 57 degrees yesterday afternoon. I walked to the river. Met other walkers. Watched the clouds and birds. Just like today.
I walked farther today than the previous days: three miles. I crossed Napa River on an elevated bridge and connected to the river trail, to the downtown then returned home on another street.
It was 65 degrees, sunny with a cool breeze. I met along the way other walkers and cyclists. We all practiced the safe distancing. There colorful flowers and plants and art.
I stopped a lot to take photos.
We are sheltered in.
Allowed to go out to take walks
Or get basic essentials for daily living.
I walk to the river for fresh air and scenery
The clouds form many disguises
The blue heron comes then flies away
Horses nonchalant in its movements
Tiny flowers adorn the lawn
My daily miracle.
Yesterday I walked with my two grandchildren and their dog for two and a half hours. My granddaughter took the photo.
At The River
The lines are cast
The fish are not biting
A fisherman wonders why
I don’t know
From a distance in the walking path
Two walkers are approaching
Ask them the question when they arrive.
The base of a tree is surrounded by stones
The other trees are not.
It’s winter even in a tiny vineyard
Meantime I’m walking back home
I’m thinking what I will have for lunch
Will xfinity know?
I walk slow
as if it is too cold to walk
It’s only autumn
no icicles are hanging yet from tree branches
with stiff knees I struggle
to gain only a short distance
as if crawling
I’m not too old either
Agility is not a property of the young
I’m too young and ashamed
to realize I’ve grown old.
After your stockings are filled with your feet
and you put on your shoes
you can start walking.
Why? Did he lose his belt?
“We just arrived,” say the fishermen
“It’s a Siberian huskie,” he says.
“They become cold easily,” she says
Both dogs are wearing colorful sweaters.
Day’s radiance lifts my feet
I meet them in my walk
The same path every morning whenever I can
As if I’m trying remember each column of trees,
Their abundant leaves and shades.
I often think of Camino de Compostela.
I hold with interest Appalachian Trail.
I hear the sounds of hot air balloons overhead
I better get going
Thoughts can escape
I can’t separate appearances and their contents
The dogs, fishermen, river and its tides
One doesn’t have to wonder where poems come from.
The walk brings life to life.
I tried to walk to the river everyday.I stpo a lot to write phrases that come in my head, take photos, or talk to people I meet.
Three walkers are ahead of me: One going towards the river and 2 are returning from the river.
A reflection from a tree catches my attention. A spider web.
Afterwards I start looking for the birds. I hear their calls and songs during my walk.
I pass by clusters of flowers.
A fisherman in a boat comes around.
I walk the same path home
and find early arrival of ghosts.
The day is cool but sunny. The colors are starting to change.