Walking slowly

After your stockings are filled with your feet

and you put on your shoes

you can start walking.

Why? Did he lose his belt?

 

 

 

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.

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.

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.

 

 

Salamanca

Mrs. Abstract and I toured University of Salamanca. The Way of St. James, Santiago de Compostela, signified by the seashell passes through Salamanca.

Distance

yesterday, I climbed 13 floors, walked more than 10,000 steps.

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

 

 

 

 

 

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.

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

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

note:Color my heart with cookies.

My Holy Moments

 

Today I went for my walk before I had my breakfast. It was 53F and the sun was trying to peek behind the clouds. A light brown, tall poodle lumbered out from a door and ran ahead of me. I heard a young woman called out, “Mozart, Mozart, come back.” The woman and I exchanged pleasantries. I remarked that she has a beautiful dog. I met a walker with his dog, a smaller one thanMozart. We greeted each other, Good morning. They were walking on opposite direction.

I continued my walk to the river. A few fishermen were socializing among themselves. Their lines resting on the riverbank.

Two towering palm trees across each other on the sidewalk greeted passerby’s. They remind me of a warmer place somewhere. The yucca plants did not give me a similar memory. 

Perhaps because of a rain for the last 2 days the street was fairly clean. The birds sang joyfully.

 

By the time I turned around to walk back home the sun has burst out. The top of the hills has risen above the clouds. The breeze 55F grazed my face like a whisper. 

My morning of holy moments.

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.

photo: from m mobile phone.