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Category: walking

To Long Bridge and Back

To Long Bridge and Back

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I finally hit the neighborhood streets yesterday for my first fast walk in almost two weeks. In part it was the trip that made walking time scarce  … but this time of year it’s also lack of light.

As we approach the shortest day, I look for times to slip away and pound the pavement. When I work at home, I can work in a stretch at lunch time, but when I’m at the office, it’s a quick walk to Long Bridge Park and back.

It’s actually a pleasant stroll. Not enough time to work up a full head of steam, but enough to stretch the legs and clear the head.

This time of year the sidewalk is often empty, especially if the temps are below 40 and there’s a brisk wind.

And with Bach in my ears and a pile of work waiting back at my desk, I make the minutes count.

To Long Bridge and back. It’ll do.

Waylaid

Waylaid

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It was one of those days, one that seemed to start without me. I meant to write when I came back from my walk, but was waylaid …  then waylaid some more. And now that it’s evening I wonder, why bother?

Because writing here is a creative comfort, a way to soothe jangled nerves.

Because writing here is a way to celebrate walking, which also soothes jangled nerves. (Notice a theme?)

Because I try to write every workday no matter what.

Because there is much to be grateful for, even on a wind-whipped November evening.

Damp, Drizzly November

Damp, Drizzly November

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A walk at lunch time yesterday, a dash outside and back before the rain moved in. Crystal City was almost deserted, federal employee haven that it is, so I had the sidewalk almost to myself.

I made my way down to Long Bridge Park and back, Gershwin in my ears, a big, soothing sound.

It was cold enough for gloves but I left them in my pocket. There will be time for them soon. For now I counted on the brisk pace to warm the extremities. And it almost did.

On the way back to the office, I looked up at the sky. The sun was trying to break through. It never quite made it, but I liked the way it was trying, the way clouds gathered and puckered, the pockets of light they let through.

It was a November Monday, not yet the “damp, drizzly November in my soul” that Melville describes in Moby Dick. It was just Monday, just November. The damp and drizzly, that would start a few hours later, would continue on through the night and into the dark morning. I hear the rain now, a steady beat on roof and road.

Warm and Golden

Warm and Golden

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A walk today when the sun was still high in the sky — or as high in the sky as it gets these days.

A walk through tunnels of autumn leaves — or as autumnal as they get around here.

It was a different kind of October, but at times a warm and golden one. Today I felt that warmth in my bones.

Moon Walk

Moon Walk

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The story last night was the moon, large and sultry and almost full. I had already walked in the morning, but when I got home last night I had to walk a little bit more, just to keep it company.

I watched it through the trees, waited for it to rise high enough to snap a shot of it free and clear.

But the chili was simmering on the stove back home, darkness was falling, and I realized I was strolling along neighborhood streets (no sidewalks, of course) wearing all black.

It was time to go home. The moon would have to wait. So I snapped a few more photos …

Then called it a night …

Peak Experience

Peak Experience

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The Chief Sealth Trail winds its way through southeastern Seattle for almost five miles. Though I’d read about it in my Airbnb welcome note and tried to find it on a map, it was proving elusive to pinpoint — at least in cyberspace.

In the long run I literally ran into it. Walking down 32nd Street, I saw a rise, an opening, a grassy meadow, a break in the cityscape. It was the trail!

I turned left, and the sight almost took my breath away. There was Mount Rainier looming large in the sunset sky.  I couldn’t find an angle that didn’t involve power lines, but there it was, Seattle’s iconic mountain.

When I reached my place, I told Cris, Airbnb host, how excited I was to spot the peak. Oh yes, she said. But you can see it from our house, too. She led me to the dining room window, pointed off in the distance. And there it was again, only slightly less imposing.

Sometimes, peak experiences are closer than you think.

A Walker in Seattle

A Walker in Seattle

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We’ve been walking up hills and down, from Pioneer Square to the International District, then hopping a bus to Ballard where we walked some more.  We chugged up hills as steep as San Francisco’s, and stopped at a local watering hole for sustenance.

I’ve already walked one route twice, from my Airbnb to Celia’s place. And last night I finally found the Chief Sealth Trail (more about that later).

For now, I’ll just say that Seattle has rolled out its grandest strolling weather for this walker in the suburbs. … walker in Seattle, I should say.

Monuments at Night

Monuments at Night

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Last night, a tour of the Washington, D.C., monuments at night. There was Lincoln, the great man’s right foot protruding slightly, as if he were about to push himself up and walk out to greet the beleaguered citizens gathered there.

What would he say? What could he say? Seeing him made me long for a statesman or stateswoman, someone larger than life who will come to save us all, who will do the right thing no matter the political consequences.

The scale of the monuments only grows in the darkness. Darkness is what we had last night — a rich, warm darkness that meant we could stroll around in shirt sleeves the second week of October. But darkness is what we have in a metaphorical sense, too. And that darkness isn’t as comfortable.

I took heart from the lights and the sounds, the throngs of people staying up late to see the marble and the fountains, those who — I hope — still believe.

Two-Walk Day

Two-Walk Day

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Walking early this morning and walking again later, I hope. The two-walk day is one I’ve come to appreciate. Walks like bookends, like brackets. Walks that hold you up, that wake you up, that keep you sane.

I’ve always felt this way, but lately more than ever.

For what is a life but the steps we take of it, the twists and turns we make of it. The people we help along the way.

The two-walk day gives me twice as long to ponder these truths and mysteries.

Labyrinth

Labyrinth

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Last night the pavement unfurled like a gift. It caught my feet and led me through the dark. It gave me room to breathe.

Earlier in the evening, October fireflies crawled up from the ground, blinking as yellow as the road marks I wrote about yesterday. If the fireflies could do it, so could I.

So I donned a headlamp and reflective vest and took off down the newly lined road.

The air was cool on my arms; it had the weight of summer air. It buoyed me as I strode past lamplit houses. It calmed me with its passage.

Last night, the road was my labyrinth.