There he is,
Across the street,
Emerging silently from his house
(Confederate gray with
Neat navy and burgundy trim,
And flowers–
Pink and white and alive–
Spilling from the window boxes).
Every morning he comes out as the
Sky is pinkening,
The eastern exposure of the
Neighborhood houses
Glowing softly,
The various greens of the grass and leaves
Hazy and still.
It’s 6:25 a.m.
In the summer,
I am on the front porch at this time,
Doing my writing
When he steps onto the sidewalk,
Slinging his backpack over his left
Shoulder like a
Teenager,
In a t-shirt even on the cool mornings.
He steps out of the house
Where I’ve seen him
Watering his flowers with a
Girlfriend, or maybe now a
Wife.
“There he is,”
I whisper to Joe
Who’s come out to
Kiss me good morning.
“Look how he walks.”
And we watch him.
His walk is gentle,
Gentle.
Watching him is like
Listening to a delicious voice speaking.
He strolls silently and slowly,
Looking around the
Treetops of his neighborhood
Like a visitor,
Taking it all in.
His left hand
Loosely clutching his backpack strap,
His right arm swinging mildly.
“I love watching him walk,”
I whisper to Joe.
“He walks so slowly.
And I think he’s on his way to work,
Probably to the bus stop.”
Who, I always think
When I see him,
Strolls
To
Work,
Looking around his neighborhood
As if he’s
Never seen it before?
Walking for me is
Charging.
“I recognized you by
Your walk,”
Joe said to me recently.
“How do I walk?”
I’d wondered.
“It’s…
Purposeful,” Joe had said.
“That’s how I walk,”
Joe points out on the porch this morning,
A little piqued,
Because I’m always telling him to
Hurry up,
Or I walk ahead of him,
And then wait impatiently for him to
Catch up.
Walking is all about
Getting somewhere,
Doing something,
Especially on the
Way to work.
Supposedly,
There is such a thing as
Walking meditation,
Where,
Ever so mindfully,
One places one’s bare foot
On the grass,
Relishing the
Textures and
Temperature and
Aliveness,
Observing how one’s
Arms and
Shoulders and
Torso and
Hips respond to the
Movement.
I’ve tried it
Once or twice.
It’s lovely and
Difficult.
These days,
I experience strolling
Vicariously,
Through my neighbor.
I take a long breath and
Watch him walk and
Think how lovely it must be to
Just stroll.
Babe the Blue Ox Writer 