Poetry Sunday

I love a good walk on a cool, crisp fall day. Or a warm spring day. Or a summer's day. In winter, not so much. Walking is good for you, so let's talk about it ...

Talk about Walking 

by Philip Booth 

Where am I going? I’m going
out, out for a walk. I don’t
know where except outside.
Outside argument, out beyond
wallpapered walls, outside
wherever it is where nobody
ever imagines. Beyond where
computers circumvent emotion,
where somebody shorted specs
for rivets for airframes on
today’s flights. I’m taking off
on my own two feet. I’m going
to clear my head, to watch
mares’-tails instead of TV,
to listen to trees and silence,
to see if I can still breathe.
I’m going to be alone with
myself, to feel how it feels
to embrace what my feet
tell my head, what wind says
in my good ear. I mean to let
myself be embraced, to let go
feeling so centripetally old.
Do I know where I’m going?
I don’t. How long or far
I have no idea. No map. I
said I was going to take
a walk. When I’ll be back
I’m not going to say.

Of course, there are other ways to look at it, particularly for those of us of steadily advancing age ...

It looks as if we dodged the worst of the bad weather this weekend ... lots and lots of rain, but only a few spots of serious, roaring wind (actually woke me up last night about 11:00). Today is still gray, chilly, and wet ... weather only for serious walkers. As a frivolous walker, I think I'll just stick to my inside chores again, and fortify myself with another pot of nice, hot, mulled cider.

Have a good day and enjoy the rest of your weekend. More thoughts tomorrow.

Bilbo