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The wind rushed through trees, shrubs, and brush today—one minute turbulent as the ocean in a storm, the next soft as a brush on drumskin. I wandered our hamlet in as much awe as I once wandered the Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam. I stooped, squatted, stared and squinted my way through my walk. In the presence of so much glory, how could I be anything by attentive and enraptured? This morning, sin would have been to heed the call of duty instead of the call of beauty. Humans are so like leaves in the brevity of our bodily existence and we were made to interact with our Creator’s work as joyfully as leaves dance in the wind.

Autumn Walk

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I have been so busy that I've missed walking for a while. Meanwhile, nature changed out of her pretty summer dress into a russet robe, accented with burgundy, flaming salmon, and gold. Today, I walked to the soft maracas beat of clattering, chattering leaves, which spiralled through the air in a dizzy dance! A humble earthbound human, I crunched through the new land of Fall that had unfolded in my absence!

Morning Walk

Gratitude--for the moment I looked up at the sky this morning; at the deepest, clearest blueness, with a swathe of marshmallow cloudlets. And for the utterly relaxed dove, looking around from the wire above me. I stopped and gazed up at her tiny pink feet, surrounded by her fluffy feathers as she rested on them, her head cocking slightly as she looked back at me. Her shining eyes took in the awestruck human below, looking up at Her Fluffiness.

Morning Walks Past an Empty House

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For at least a year, I've watched the empty house, as slowly, slowly, its long-neglected yard endured pruning. I'd grown used to bending beneath the overgrowth that protruded over the path I walked.On weekends or on weeks off, someone worked. Tangled branches were lopped off, then bound like prisoners against escape, and laid on the curbside for pick-up.I imagined equal time given to the inside rooms, an emptying of signs of a parent's lifetime, treasures uncovered amid messy piles of paper and cluttered drawers. There is no rushing such things.I met the daughter once, as she worked in the yard for a week, I think her name was Pat, or Pam, maybe. I never saw her again, but I've admired her tireless and relentless commitment, judging by the progress steadily made. An electric light shining inside the house gives an occasional sign of her presence. Sometimes a lone light burning forgotten in the garage keeps sentinel watch.One morning, though, as I pass the empty house, …

Morning Walk

My feet carry me, striding out at first, strong, swift and purposeful on my early morning walk. But I am a distracted walker. I notice so many things within minutes that I slow to look closer, then to squat and gaze and wonder: at the glow of lamps on a porch; the lines of leaded window-panes; even the indefinable “sense” of a household asleep behind closed blinds. Light dances with shadow on a sloping bank of wild grasses and flowers. Already I am both captivated and trying to capture what I see if I can. I pass a wooden porch attached to an old home, and the morning light catches its peeling rafters. How many people have sat beneath them, I wonder? Who were they? I imagine visiting friends, sharing confidences and laughter, children on their haunches, lips slack, absorbed in their imaginary world of play. This morning a wiry woman hunches over, legs crossed, elbows on knees, looking deep in thought, smoking what I guess is her first cigarette of the day. The smoke wafts its way into…

Morning Walk

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Eyes wide open I walked; but phone resolutely tucked away, for the purpose of my walk is to be "with God," not clicking away, like a distracted tourist. But aren't I a tourist? Here on earth, we all visit for a relatively short time, and shouldn't we pay attention? And so I did, and noticed seeds, and thought of the rhythm of arriving plump with purpose and possibility in this world, and then seeding "our ground" before we leave. And then, back home, I peered from behind a mug of steaming and strong black coffee, at a page of poetry. And Mary Oliver spoke to me her thoughts: "For it is precisely how I feel, who have inherited not measurable wealth but, as we all do who care for it, that immeasurable fund of thoughts and ideas, from writers and thinkers long ago gone into the ground--and, inseparable from those wisdoms because DEMANDED by them, the responsibility to live thoughtfully and intelligently. To enjoy, to question--never to assume, or trample...…

Morning Walk

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My morning walk with God is like the pastry of my day. Once you have the perfect foundation laid, whatever fills it will create a beautiful thing.