I don’t have clarity about when this life of walking began. I know it began “As the thing, as the all of it” in October of 2021 when I landed in San Diego after three months in Encinitas — where I learned to boogie board — after the Portland divorce. The fact is my walking now, back in Portland, is the “all of it.” Along with coffee. Along with Zen books. Along with blogging. With Morning Pages. That potpourri a small speck held within the self-love arms of a practice.
Someone wondered the other day if I’m depressed. I’m not. When the first snow comes to Portland I’ll run out into it, wild, aflame, in a fire dance. Energy enough to rattle all the trees in Forest Park, swish the mighty Willamette River from shore to shore.
In the meantime — walking, coffee, books, sidewalk kitties, the cushion, dragonflies — all the colorful palette of art I’m offered each day, another day, presenting itself, huffs out.
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