Walking down the road

I walk like it matters. I walk because it matters. Every morning. Sometimes even in the rain. Sometimes in the rain with a red umbrella.

I began walking to have a few minutes to myself when my children were young. I kept walking because it freed something up in me. I felt lighter. More hope.

It was and remains a kind of a refuge.

After a year or two I tried listening to music or podcasts to make the time pass as I walked, but I began to miss the music of the road. I could not hear the birdsong, or the children at the elementary school playing in the yard up the hill. I could not hear the truck whizzing by and it's wheels slipping off into the distance.

And I missed my own company. My thoughts coming and going. Ideas coming forth out of no where.

I leave my phone at home even though I sometimes wish I had it to catch the light or capture a seedpod in it's special moment. Instead I take a snapshot in my mind.

Interesting things began to happen. I began to feel fit. That was a new feeling for me. I had never exercised in my life. 

I began to get ideas on the road. Sometimes I would have to write them down as soon as I got back in the door. 

I began to see the images I watched as I walked appear in my rugs in different forms and different colours. Walking was influencing my art.

Walking became about thinking freely. Thoughts landing like a little bird on my shoulder than flying away.

One step at a time. Each step bringing me closer to myself.

Walking became a meditation. It changed me.

It took years for me to fully see those changes but I think they began right away when I look back on it now.

Walking is my time. A time to think, a time to pray, a time to just be.