For one thing Spain sounds much more exotic than Snowflake...maybe magical transformations of thinking can take place. And while I am hopeful for a bang up kind of experience...I thought about my continual walks, my continual morning pilgramages.
Most walks are at 5:30 a.m. because I work full time. So in the winter that means layers of clothes as it is often below freezing and my walks begin and end under the stars.
This is usually how walks go down. My alarm goes off and I groan inwardly. I count backwards from 10 promising myself that at zero I will roll out of bed. The counting repeats several times and I scan my mind and body quickly hoping for a justifiable, really good reason to not walk. But then my more rational self clicks in and I remember that I'm always happy when I walk and that on really crappy days at least I can say I did that one good thing.
So I roll out and dress. I wish I could claim I dress super cute, but it's only old sweats from my husband or son's discards and a hoody on my head to stay warm and keep me from having to comb my hair. It's not high fashion...(although my present shoes are pink:)
I would say one of the best physical sensations of the walk isn't the walk but breathing the air. In a small town it's always an interesting mixture. So I step out on my porch and inhale deeply the dirt smell (dirt is the best smell under the heavens), sometimes it's mixed in with the silage from the farm down the street.
For a few short weeks in the spring its heaven smelling all the fruit trees in town blooming. And as I cross mainstreet and walk by McDonald's the smells coming from there are pretty enticing.
Sometimes I've walked several blocks before my brain comes to and kicks in and my think-thinking can begin.
Sometimes my walks are a continual prayer...pleading my cause, my life, my hopes and yearnings. Pleading for a burden to lift or at least shift.
Sometimes my walks are an angry rant. Silently yet loudly defending my point of view.
Sometimes my walks are a little cry fest. But the tears are cold in the winter. And only occasionally when I pass a fellow walker do I have to quickly wipe them away and smile.
Sometimes I laugh at things no one else would find entertaining.
Sometimes my walks are filled with deep and penetrating questions about the meaning of my life and all that I'm experiencing.
Sometimes the walks are rather numb and void. With no thread of a deeper thought process...just moving one foot then the next.
But always always as I return home I feel a little peace, a little resiliency, a little self satisfaction that I got up and walked the same old route that I've walked for decades. I really should get a new route. But that sounds kind of like too much work.
Here's a picture as I opened my back door to walk this morning. I wonder if Spain can hold a candle to this.
That route really is a little bit of therapy.
ReplyDeleteMark suggested that next time we need a new route we go right instead of left...change direction instead of continents. Good thing he's kidding.
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