Walking is waking meditation, as natural and repetitive as breathing.






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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

toward the Boreal Forest to find a Northern Light–P1060403

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.

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