Today is not a running day, today is a day to walk.
I’ll find spaces in between accomplishments, convocations, spattered notifications,
where the strangeness of life putters aimlessly.
There will be flowers there, even if they’re only the invisible kind.
My dog waits for me there along with all the other animals in our home.
They live in this place, always, wondering why we only visit.
Walking days can begin with a rats nest of thoughts.
I slow my pace to unscatter them, mosaics waiting to be discovered then discarded.
I’m left with my wandering way that now measures everything in the rhythm of my boots, the cadence of gravel sentences.
If I stagger a bit it’s only because I’ve found some perfume to follow.
It’s funny how these are the only days I remember as the years pass.
These days teach us how to age,
how to traverse the lonely places, without losing our way.
Walking days are the times when our true destination reveals its path.
