Interested in your thoughts, as an old man, about an old man walking in a crowd. I see the same thing from a bicycle saddle, and it has occurred to me that those for whom the world has 'denied the privilege' of an automobile, and perhaps with even a hint of grace, can see The World in a more comprehensive light. Like Wendell Berry, still…
Interested in your thoughts, as an old man, about an old man walking in a crowd. I see the same thing from a bicycle saddle, and it has occurred to me that those for whom the world has 'denied the privilege' of an automobile, and perhaps with even a hint of grace, can see The World in a more comprehensive light. Like Wendell Berry, still plowing his 40 acres with mules.. But maybe that's more likely for the person with sufficient privilege that they can 'choose' to not partake of the "luxury' of transport by automobile.
“ He looks each one he passes in the face… An Invitation,” oh how this moved me! Only at a walking pace can we truly take in another and invite a conversation or simply an acknowledgment or recognition without words. Perhaps walking will heal us…
Interested in your thoughts, as an old man, about an old man walking in a crowd. I see the same thing from a bicycle saddle, and it has occurred to me that those for whom the world has 'denied the privilege' of an automobile, and perhaps with even a hint of grace, can see The World in a more comprehensive light. Like Wendell Berry, still plowing his 40 acres with mules.. But maybe that's more likely for the person with sufficient privilege that they can 'choose' to not partake of the "luxury' of transport by automobile.
[For Susan Westbrook]
I walk on doctor's orders every other day
I walk the Crabtree Valley Mall
Lungs stiff
Legs rusted cables.
Here under the skylight
I practice to be
A king in the field
Every other day.
A king does not trudge he does not shuffle
Sunk in his own thoughts
Neither does he pursue a goal
Jaw set
A to B and out.
A king glides
Foot sure of the ground
Lift off touch down
Lightly on the buoyant surface
Poised.
He looks each one he passes in the face
An invitation.
From behind a line of shoppers
Blocking the lane
Slow like a school of oblivious fish
He tempers his pace
Does not crowd
Waits for a natural opening
Slips by without disturbance.
Most do not notice
The easy look in the face
Others look away
No matter
His invitation stands.
Yet a few others meet his glance
A slight nod of recognition
They pass queens and kings of the field.
Many say these consumers are zombies
Not in control under a spell
In each face
He sees that is not so
The lame the sprightly
The burdened the veiled
Traveling the gaps in colors
All are vital
Walking the Crabtree Valley Mall
Among the bright sprays of children
The more likely to return his look.
Walk ending
Unstiffened shed of rust
Liquid
Ungrasped.
The skylight asks
Isn't this king you practice
A made up character?
No doctor's orders
Yes always make it up.
The skylight blesses and invites
Take it out from this cathedral
The Crabtree Valley Mall
You there
Take it away and walk it.
"Most do not notice
The easy look in the face
Others look away"
The tiny tragedies of the 'not noticings'. Thanks for this. I'm trying, gently, to more frequently engage those trapped in themselves.
“ He looks each one he passes in the face… An Invitation,” oh how this moved me! Only at a walking pace can we truly take in another and invite a conversation or simply an acknowledgment or recognition without words. Perhaps walking will heal us…
Flood-tide below me! I see you face to face!
Clouds of the west—sun there half an hour high—I see you also face to face.
Crossing Brooklyn Ferry, Walt Whitman