"To me, every hour of the light and dark is a miracle." — Walt Whitman
We took an early, misty walk along the Mystic River this morning, about 3 1/2 miles. The river was beautiful in its mistiness — the sort of mysterious, silken look that misty mornings seem to do so well. I huffed and puffed and shared some thoughts with Cia and she with me, but mostly we were silent as we strode for more than an hour through the muggy mist.
a haiku poem
someone washing chairs
sunshine showing the easy way
the chairs will soon smile
Yesterday, we drove up to Providence for my appointment with several neurologists who specialize in memory issues. I didn’t really want to do this, but now, looking back, I think it was a helpful visit for both Cia and me. I think we were both disappointed in the way my examination was conducted, as if I was a guinea pig going through some standardized tests to see how smart I was by how many tricks I could do. To me, it seemed similar to some of the silliness teachers and students have to participate in these days. It was a helpful visit, though, because it clarified, for both Delycia and me, some of the memory and cognitive issues folks my age sometimes have to deal with. I now see more clearly where I am on the cognitive/age continuum, and I have more understanding of the issues which are confronting many billions of elders around the globe.
Our chalkboard poem for today …
We took a walk up and down the Peace Sanctuary hill this morning – four times in about 30 minutes – and, as usual, I was weary at the end. I discovered something interesting, however – that I could thoroughly enjoy climbing a hill slowly. Often I try to climb with my senior-citizen quickness (of which I have very little), but today I enjoyed striding along almost as slowly as my breath was coming and going. Breathe in, take one step; breathe out, take one step. Well, not quite that slowly, but I had a pleasant, peaceable pace that made the four climbs seem almost like inspiring meditations. My legs were moving, my heart was beating, my lungs were opening and closing, and something like tenderness seemed to be present in this usually toilsome walk.
Today I got a good whole-body workout by clearing some sticks and brush out near the old woodpile, and then stacking, for about 30 minutes, some of the big new logs beside the fence on the west side of the house. It felt good to settle the new logs into a reasonably tidy stack – sort of like settling life into its perfect place, or rather, noticing that life already is shipshape and perfectly settled.
Another lovely, fairly lazy bike ride this morning on the rail trial in S. Kingston. The forest, as usual, was cool and comfortable, with flickerings and drapes of sunlight here and there. We rode with ease and comfort, but gave our muscles and hearts a fair workout too.
Below, a draft of a poem I quickly composed, while listening to music on the radio on the drive home from the bike ride, starting with some words I overheard another rider say as he passed us on the trail …
The revised poem …
do a little bit of this
-starting with words overheard on the Kingston rail trail bike path
we’ll do a little bit of this a little bit of that
the sun will do a little silky smiling
the wind will break itself up into soft bits of breezes
passing bikes will be a little lighthearted or a little cloudy in the heart
we shall hear bits of songs in our minds as we ride
small ways the universe shares its peacefulness
a little bit of sorrow a little bit of sympathy
the way winds flow as we follow the trail