Walking is waking meditation, as natural and repetitive as breathing.
Walking is cadence
a fall, a pitch, a foot
a soundscape of swashbuckling yel | low leaves, holding me
in That time of year when larches shed their summer clothes
on the bare backs of mountains (like you and I, our eyes turned
toward the forest, away from the ocean
Walking.) is a
<p style=”text-align: left;”>sequence</p>
<p style=”text-align: left;”>of</p>
<p style=”text-align: left;”>steps</p.
that can only be performed by humans.
Walking is not a protocol, it is a parole, a language.
We go eastward to realize history and study the works of art and literature, retracing the steps of the race; we go westwards as into the future, with a spirit of enterprise and adventure…
So Thoreau writes man will save himself by walking
That time of year when Shakespeare wrote, and the robins are dead and the ocean is grey and humming.
So Shakespeare wrote
So Thoreau walked
So America hold me
Till I wake to the sound of her breathing.