The Path

“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.

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The birds and flowers

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.

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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.

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Afterwards I start looking for the birds. I hear their calls and songs during my walk.

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I pass by clusters of flowers.

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A fisherman in a boat comes around.

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I walk the same path home

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and find early arrival of ghosts.

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The day is cool but sunny. The colors are starting to change.

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Walking

I have been walking for one hour everyday for two and a half weeks now.  Napa River is near our neighborhood. I follow a loop that takes  me about one hour. I stop a lot to observe, take photos and talk to people I meet. Many of them are other walkers and most are walking their dogs.

The photos I posted are some of those phots taken during my walk.

Walking can be a form of calming hour. A new article sings praises for walking:walking

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My Thursday

 

During the last few days I have been walking to the river early in the morning.The day is cool and I need only a light jacket. Today is one of those days.

The path to the river has newly planted bushes like the English laurel. They replaced wild palm trees that become diseased easily.

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The regular fishermen have not arrived. There are two gentlemen on the riverbank who are enjoying a conversation and drinking coffee.

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The front lawns of the houses along the street are well groomed and have a lot of flowers. I don’t know their names.

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I stop often to look at the flowers and take photos. If the fishermen are around I usually talk to them. Very casual conversations. Nothing deep or esoteric.

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My walk takes me about 60 minutes because I stop a lot. Sometimes I carry a book and sit on an empty bench to read. I write notes in my mobile phone.

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I’m reading currently 3 books: Aristotle’s Way by Edith Hall, Love and St. Augustine by Hannah Arendt and Dancing on the Spider Web, a new novel by Sasha Paulsen, the feature editor of our local newspaper, the Napa Register.

The Distance Between

Once upon a time the distance

Between thoughts is eternity

Time has changed

The distance has narrowed

One thought can almost touch the other thought

Yet we ourselves are getting apart

Much farther then ever before

The noises are ever present 

And everywhere, no places

Where quietness reigns

Humanity is diminishing like insects

Information floods and displaced truth

The mind is restless and occupied

Not a moment stilled for self reflection

We are walking statues

Blind and deaf to directions

Or how far is self destruction?

“Hatefulness is everywhere.”

 

Once, I asked you

If you have a map

You smiled and I smiled

We both knew the answer

And we were silent, our faces blank

We walked away sad

With tears in our eyes.

 

To go far, to do a little

More, we need 

To walk together.

Unlike any other day

The day is raining and windy

I’m walking, holding an umbrella over my head

I’m arguing gainst my thoughts

I think of Hamlet,restless, talking to himself

the ghost and skull behind him 

 

She says she will not be home when I arrive

The day is swiftly gathering darkness

And I’m trying to understand how 

an umbrella breaks in a day like today.

Whistle

I am walking to the river.

Sometimes I whistle when I walk Inviting the breeze to come.

 

The birds whistle to each other.

They hide within the branches of the trees when it rain.

Their wings become heavy when wet.

 

Some places flood when it rains.

Places next to a river.

Houses along a river.

Even after repeated floods people don’t want leave.

 

Some mountains have frequent fires.

People who live there also don’t want to move to another plane.

 

Some people have perseverance.

They have courage to resist.

 

The cool breeze comes.

I continue my walk.

Sometimes I think of you. I wonder of what you are doing.

 

I will see you on Thursday.

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note:Color my heart with cookies.

Walking

During my walk
when one foot touches the earth
am I honoring someone or something?
The bones buried under the land?
Or the sustenance that rises up the roots
Or the stories heard by the tress told
by storms and musical wind?

I’m resting on a bench, listening
to the music around me, movements
like breaking twigs and leaves scattering
an older lady passes by, we exchange greetings
and talk about the 100 vines of newly planted cabernet,
surrounded by special grain of sand,
on the bend of the walkway.in front of us.

We walk along the path everyday and only
now we do meet. A casual conversation,
tidbits of solace during solitary walks.
They add like intertwining yarn
in beauty and strength.

After a while we say so long
resume our ordinary time.

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photo: from m mobile phone.