on going for a walk


Some may think I’m just going for a walk.  But I’m looking for clues. Clues for what’s next. Not that I’m dissatisfied with here…I love here…and I can’t think of a better way to celebrate now, then to look around a bit.  I’m only here because I was curious.  If you stop being curious, well, then you just stop.  I’m not ready to stop.  And my feet want to go.

My feet have seen as much as my brain.  They’re partners.  And then when my heart comes along. Then there’s magic.  Then I find wild asparagus.  Wild asparaguthat makes me cook in colors of a yellow egg omelet, with the wild greens of the asparagus, and a little red hot sauce, and oh, look what I’ve seen.  And the same muscles that reached and stretched and gathered in those petite green stalks, grab a paint brush, and use the reds that topped off hot, and the greens that grew so freely and the calming yellows and I paint apples.  And this still life stills my heart, and I am able to think.  And to write. 

And I make a book with apples and words that I had been gardening for years. 

So no, I’m not just going for a walk.  I am on a walk.  A glorious hunt for what is, and what can be, and what will be.  Under the sun, above the ground, within it all, I’m curious, I’m grateful, I’m alive.


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