The Walk
I’m at an age where there might not be much left to live. I suspect that’s why I like hiking. It’s slow. It’s measured. It’s peaceful. Did five miles yesterday. Looked at the hills. Looked at the sky. Looked at the road where I walked. Saw a couple of jack rabbits. A javelina or two. Watched the clouds slide by. Put one foot in front of the other. Covered the ground. Made good time, but it wasn’t about the time, it was about the walk.
It wasn’t about my body either. It’s just a tool to carry around my mind. And we did fine. My mind wanted to relax, so the old body went into autopilot and did it’s thing. In the history of transportation devices, legs were the originals. Mine still work, and I’m trying to keep it that way. And in the remaining time allotted to me, I think I’ll walk, thank you. It’s a scale think, I guess. I could fly around and see the world, or I can walk and see mine.
In fact, I might take a walk when I get done. Here. Might. Temperature is an issue. So, if it’s still reasonable, I’ll pull on my boots, grab a bottle of water and go look at the town. Towns look different on foot because you see all the little things. Traces of people. Traces of lives. Bits of dreams. History in the debris and clutter. History in the making as new things emerge. Revelations. And sometimes you learn things about yourself as you walk, and that can be interesting. Or terrifying. But I wish I’d take more walk sooner. I might have been a better man.