Walk 1 Movement

 NC Aboretum

The first thing I noticed was my pace, it was an unconscious pace and too fast for this walk. Intentionally slowing down was disorienting at first, it was a conscious attempt to find an authentic pace, a pace aligned with my body, with the length of my limbs, the size of my lungs, the beat of my heart. At first I overcompensated and forgot how to walk, how can this simple act become unfamiliar? I stumbled and hopped off balance and gradually, after some further adjustments, found a good in-between pace. Quieting the mind and dropping into my body. I became aware of my hips, ‘the source of all movement,’ someone recently told me. I made some space under my arms, a cushion of airspace that added more stability to my walk and engaged more than just my lower body. With this, I sensed my posture became more upright, aligned and full of ease.

I chose mulch to walk over when given the choice. It was quiet and springy, less slippery than leaves and easier to balance on than loose gravel. I came to a split in the path and wondered how to choose? My mind jumped up and wanted information about nearly everything, ‘Where does this way go, and that way?’ ‘How long will it take to take that path, or this one?” Finally I asked my body, ‘which way did it want to go?’ It clearly had a choice and I stepped onto the path to my right. It sloped gently downhill and was a mix of light and shade, there was a rough stone knee wall along one side. The first step felt right and my previous concerns fell away. I easily decided I would turn around and come back at any point for any reason, walking the full distance of the path didn’t matter. I committed only to walking until I was ready to turn around, not necessarily to complete a route.

That done, which was a lot, I turned to fully experiencing my surroundings. It was still morning, the air was still fresh and cool, and to my left ran a little stream. I moved off the path and knelt beside the stream, balanced on my haunches, rocking a bit to and fro with the running water. I could hear the water dripping and trickling and bubbling, I could see it divide and converge again around rocks, fallen logs and other chance obstacles, sometimes a leaf just under the surface would travel past. I smelled the earth, a mushroomy humus this time of year. I heard in the background a diminished thrumming and pulsing sound of crickets and other chirping insects, singing the last songs of the season. It is the autumn equinox, before the leaves change color and fall en masse, all is still mostly green, a few yellows and reds. I notice a few leaves float to the ground, followed by others, the first few movements initiating or foretelling of a coming trend. 

On the slight uphill walk on my return I noticed a large mat of bright green moss and moved toward it. I noticed a fallen hollow log and other signs of decay strewn between the trunks of tall healthy trees as well as spindly young trees seeking more sunlight. On the way back I felt a wave of emotion and a tingling. To be one with my surroundings, no more or less, I felt gratitude to have this experience of walking, being with my body on this earth.