Tomorrow will be a new walk

. . . enjoying the freedom that
scope eludes my grasp, that there is no
finality of vision,
that I have perceived nothing completely,
that tomorrow a new walk is a new walk.

I came across these provocative lines of poetry in an old issue of Harper’s Magazine. Immediately I connected with the poet; I’ve been on that walk too, not in A. R. Ammons’s neck of the woods, but in my own little piece of Eden—North Creek Trail—which is about three miles from my suburban apartment, which is about three blocks from Interstate 5, the main concrete artery that transports people and goods between the Pacific Northwest, Canada and southern California. I am never so aware of the constant din from the perpetual ebb and flow of its trucks, buses, autos, and the occasional passel of Harley hogs as I am in its absence, whenever I walk along this Trail, shaded by old growth trees and scented with wild roses, apple blossoms, lilacs and cedar pine.

If you are a walker like I was, living in a hot desert climate where the shopping mall was your best bet for chalking up those 10,000 steps and still avoiding heatstroke, then you will understand how easily that kind of walking venue breeds boredom. On the trails here, every walk can be a new walk, a unique sensory, or even social experience.

Continue reading