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Category: walking

Cool Breeze

Cool Breeze

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Something shifted overnight. It won’t last long, so I’d better write fast.  A cool breeze is blowing in from the west, bending the bamboo that fringes the deck, and thin clouds are scuttling through a blue sky.

There is movement and gladness in the air, and the lazy trills of birdsong. 

Colors look brighter, and there are plenty of them, especially in the back garden. 

I’d like to sit here and keep describing it all, but I’d better walk now, before it goes away.

(Two young walkers enjoying a cool breeze a few weeks ago. Photo: CCC)

Knowing the Way

Knowing the Way

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It’s not something I think about often, but it struck me this morning, as I returned from a walk that took me down neighborhood streets and back home through the woods, that I know the way, that I have this. 

I know the path begins beyond the short guardrails in the cul-de-sac, that it winds down to the creek through ferns and knotweed. 

I know that you can cross the creek easily there, because it’s low and there are rocks to help you. 

And I know that if I turn left at the end of that trail, I’ll find the main path, which takes me back to the street.

It’s a skill older than language: knowing the way home.

Mountain Laurel

Mountain Laurel

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The mountain laurel was blooming, and I had to see it. I remember stumbling on it during the pandemic during a one-day getaway that was the most time I’d spent away from home in months.

Yesterday, well clear of lockdowns and one week further into June, the blossoms were heavy on their glossy green stems. Flowering shrubs lined one section of trail, making a passageway of poesies. 

Walking through it, I felt like those blossoms were blessing me, which I guess, in their own way, they were. 

Lovely, Dark and Deep

Lovely, Dark and Deep

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It’s less than three weeks till summer solstice. By 5 a.m. the first birds are singing, and darkness doesn’t fall till almost 9 p.m. At this time of year, light is our constant companion. 

Perhaps that’s why the woods appeal. They are, to quote Robert Frost, “lovely, dark and deep.” Though he described a winter landscape, mine is a summery one: oaks, maples and sycamore in full leaf, the path that winds through them sheltered and shady.

What mysteries lie down these trails? What refreshment will they bring? Will the woods be cooler than the street? These are questions I want to answer — and will. 

Finding Hildasay

Finding Hildasay

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People who know me know I like to read, and sometimes they give me a book they think I’ll like. Finding Hildasay is one of those. It’s the story of a veteran from the United Kingdom who decided to walk the entire UK coastline. 

I’ve walked a few feet of the UK coastline (!), and books about walking are a sub-genre I enjoy, so it’s no wonder that this volume found its way into my hands.

I’m so glad it did. Christian Lewis took off on his journey with £10 to his name. He foraged for food, survived 70-mile-an-hour winds, and never gave up on his quest. Hildasay is the Shetland island where he spent three months during the pandemic lockdown. It was where he finally had the time to reflect upon what he had achieved: the depression he had beaten, the money he had raised for a veterans’ charity, the  sense of purpose he had found.

The book stops mid-journey, so I wondered what was up. Could there be a sequel? Well yes there is. I have a feeling I’ll be reading it soon.

(The coastline of the Orkney Islands, as close to Hildasay as I’ve traveled.)

Woods Walking Track

Woods Walking Track

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Choosing a walking path for the day is a little like choosing an outfit, which means that a weather report may be involved. When showers are forecast, as they have been recently, it’s good to pick a circular trail, because there will be less distance to sprint if caught in a downpour. 

I had just such a trail in mind the other day. It’s one of my earliest strolling finds, a peach of a path that makes not just one circle but two. I take the larger loop if I have more time, the shorter one if I don’t. When I’m dodging raindrops, I take as many loops as I can before the wind starts to whistle. 

It struck me the other day that it was almost like walking on a track, with its precise quarter-mile distance, so you know automatically, with your revolutions, how far you’ve gone. 

This “track” was not quite as round or as predictable — and I’m not entirely sure about the mileage. But I could find out. 

Another Way of Living

Another Way of Living

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Because of its strict property boundaries, I don’t live in Reston, but I walk on its trails, buy strawberries at its farmers market, and take yoga at its community center.  

For many years, I haven’t known where I live: My mailing address says Herndon, my kids attended high school in Oakton, and I commuted from Vienna.  You could say I live in the suburbs of northern Virginia, but for a person who cares about place, that’s always rankled.

Since the pandemic, though, I’ve been gravitating to the place that suits me best, and that is Reston, a community founded and developed by Robert E. Simon (hence Reston) 60 years ago. Last night I watched a film made to celebrate the town’s 50th anniversary: “Another Way of Living: The Story of Reston, VA.” 

To say it makes me proud is an understatement. It roots me, inspires me, makes me want to move a mile away just to live in Reston officially. I probably won’t do that. But I’ll walk its trails with more awe than usual. 

(The Van Gogh Bridge in Reston’s Lake Anne. More on the film in future posts.)

Connectivity

Connectivity

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On a walk I took Monday and may take again today, I noticed how rich life feels when the path you are walking is not just an afterthought to a road but is a network complete unto itself. 

It leads from place to place, revealing parks and benches and fountains not easily seen otherwise. It has numerous intersections and junctions. You must know which way to turn or you will be lost, though not for long.

Such a trail has segments you recognize and enjoy: a few hundred feet winding among townhouses in the beginning, a wooded stretch, a ball field and little free library. Crossing one street, passing under another, and finally winding up in an urban village, complete with café, bookstore and community center. 

A walk from place to place is about more than exercise. It’s about connectivity. 

Golden Stroll

Golden Stroll

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Back from a long drive, I take to the road. Not as a motorist but a pedestrian. I’m not often walking during the “golden hour,” when the sun slants low and bathes the landscape in soft light, but I was yesterday, and I reveled in it.

I first learned of the golden hour traveling with photographers. While writers can ply their trade at any hour (observing, interviewing, soaking up the local color), photographers prefer mornings and evenings to snap their shots. I see why. The world looks better then, and so do the photographs.

I didn’t intend to stroll during the golden hour yesterday; that was just the time available. But once I was walking through it I realized my good fortune. Here was beauty to soothe the nerves and still the mind. 

(The golden hour in Khulna, Bangladesh.)

Green Bank Shining

Green Bank Shining

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A walk yesterday to clear the head and boost the spirit. The day was made for it, a gift of a day if ever there was one. I walked fast and long, as if I could outpace grief. 

That wouldn’t happen, but there were delights along the way: Lake Audubon, resplendent on a May morning, the scampering of squirrels and chipmunks, a green bank shining in the sun. 

We who are still living pick up the banner and march on. It is our duty … and our privilege.