We live in a subdivision of hundreds and hundreds of houses all with one of a dozen or so repeating floor plans but there are secret spots. Hidden trail treasures. We walk on pavement, on gravel, on grass, on leaves, along creeks, and among the trees. We appreciate the rhythm of the pavement, the feel of the grass, the smell of a trail thick with trampled leaves, the view from below - looking up into the southern pines. The soft surface paths are our favorites. Off the road, along the creek, beneath the pines. We have seen countless deer, hawks, a few owls, and even a red fox. Subdivision secrets. Walking wonders. I read this piece long ago and I saved it. Perspective. I want to remember it so I will put it here, on this blog, our memory keeper.
"None of your knowledge, your reading, your connections will be of any use here: two legs suffice, and big eyes to see with. Walk alone, across mountains or through forests. You are nobody to the hills or the thick boughs heavy with greenery. You are no longer a role, or a status, not even an individual, but a body, a body that feels sharp stones on the paths, the caress of long grass and the freshness of the wind. When you walk, the world has neither present nor future: nothing but the cycle of mornings and evenings. Always the same things to do all day: walk. But the walker who marvels at the blue of the rocks in a July evening light, the silvery green of olive leaves at noon, the violet morning hills, has no past, no plans, no experience. He has within him the eternal child. While walking I am but a simple gaze."
Frederic Gros, A Philosophy of Walking
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