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About Walking

Headcold
Hobbies
My Morning Walk
Sleepless
Adaptation
Walking Alone
Walking Alone (Sonnet)
Song in My Head
Sleepless
Villanelle
Ways Of Walking

Yards and Houses

Dog with Iron Flowers
Floral Names and Colors
Laundry
Newspaper Stories
Ducklings
Professional Gardeners
Squeak
Shopping Cart

Cats
Books in a Window

Along the Street

Haunted Street
Leaf Boat
Spider Web
White Rag
Bikers
Black Hole
Paper Bag
PDA
Rose Arbor
What the Butterfly Knows
Sexygenarian
Crossing the Street
The Great License Mystery
In Concrete
Rose Arbor-II

White Truck

VE-Day 1998
Secret Sounds
Hopscotch

Other Walkers

Smile
Steps
Grass
Penny
Laundry
Kids at the Park
Female
Signals
T-Shirts
Three Stones
The Secret
Her Hair
Strangers in Town
Twins
California Spring

Shops and Such

Signs on Doors
Dress Code
Antique
Erosion
A Lion at Lunch
Aromas
Silence at Dinner
Bones
Garden Ornaments
Blank Book

Toward and At the Beach

Blonde at the Beach
Sunday Morning
Nodding
Squid
Wet Lovers
A Gull Named George

Coming Home

Lightning
Downhill and Up
Degrees of Inclination
A Solingen Blade

 

My Morning Walk

When I begin my morning walk,

Iím heading north toward the bay.

Itís good,

Starting downhill.

 My goal is marked,

As I turn from my drive onto the street,

By distant soaring gulls.

Slow strokes of dignity.

Exotic punctuation marks in

The illegible language of the clouds.

 

The sun is at my back.

My challenging shadow strides ahead,

Taunting but manly company,

No matter how briskly I walk.

 

The wind is from behind

And easily accommodated

Just by turning up my collar.

 

Then, soon, I see the blue bay

With, some days, murmured declarative

Intonations of whitecaps

Or, other days,

Sibilant whispered interrogative tints

And shades of azure asking eternal questions

For which I have no answers, but happily

Seek them anyway, step by briskly pacing step,

Downhill.

 

When I reach the waves,

Fracturing themselves on the rocks

And sprawling on, clawing at, the sands

Periodically,

Expectantly,

†† Systematically,

††† Impassively,

†††† Interminably,

I sympathize with them a moment

Then turn back

 

The whole world changes.

 

I squint against the sun,

Now higher and warmer in the sky.

Zip up my jacket, at first,

Against the wind on my chest.

Until the uphill trudging exertion

(Dragging my black and languid shadow behind)

Makes be zip it down again.

 

Flapping crows tear the air to rags.

Grackles walk meaninglessly,

Totally un-choreographed,

On the sidewalks

And avoid me as some irrelevant, begrudged

Inter-

††††††† ruption

To their inane wanderings.

 

Uphill Iím all inside myself.

Lungs, heartbeat, footfall, sinew, all

Usurp attention even from

Mrs. Collinsí yellow roses which, I swear,

Were not blooming on my downhill walk.

 

Downhill is better, yes,

Though, everything considered,

Itís better to live up on the hill.

 

If I had to begin by walking up,

Facing the sun, wind, crows and urgent pulse,

I might not go walking at all.

 

...............