a year later...

I remember odd aspects from the walk, mostly fragments of the places I rested or slept, just visual images and impressions that have no meaning other than that I Do remember them, and for whatever reason they have lodged in my mind. Probably rest stops stay in my memory because they were so pleasurable and necessary, and those few minutes sitting did wonders to rejuvenate me for the next hour. I usually walked seven or eight miles at a stretch, and decided on my breaks by the feel of my feet, so I would look around for a suitable bit of shade or a good view and keep moving until I found one. After stopping during the heat of day, sopping wet with perspiration, I sometimes stripped naked behind a bush or stone, then laid my clothes out to dry as I rested and snacked on whatever I had in my pack-usually a package of donuts or peanuts or a breakfast bar. Generally I removed my sneakers as well and aired out my socks, for there was rarely an opportunity to wash, particularly in the deserts. It was remarkable how enjoyable those short breaks became, maybe because they were all that I needed in that simple life, and more essential than the trivial wants I had been used to.
It became easy to hide in plain sight, so during one stop about ten miles from anywhere I sat on one side of the road while a motorist pulled over to the other side, where a middle age guy got out in order to urinate. Thinking he was alone, he stretched and shuffled and mumbled as he went behind a bush, and only noticed me after he had shifted into gear to speed away. I smiled and waved and figured it was a rare opportunity to see a man as he truly was, uninhibited and wholly natural, like watching a dog in the backyard. Embarassment over bodily functions were the least of my concerns so I became skilled at relieving myself in public without being noticed... Odd what sticks in the memory...
While eating lunch one day behind a small town in western PA I watched Great Blue Herons nesting in trees about two hundred yards away, which was the first time I had seen that species reproducing. To me it was like watching cranes or storks in the Everglades, yet I doubted that many of the townspeople knew they were there, nor would I have seen them if I had not slipped behind a power station to sit on some grass.
Another time I sat beneath a tree near Kansas City sipping from a frozen bottle of Gatorade that a good Samaritan had given to me a few minutes before, and I can visualize the shade and the roots and the grass and the lay of the road and how it twisted and turned beyond that spot and the hot macadam I had followed to get there. There was nothing unique about that place, although by tracing my mind I can remember the grass where I had slept the night before, and the church lawn at which I slept later that evening. When I had wandered over to the neighbors house to explain my presence at the church, which was in an isolated area, he offered me a swim in his pool...the next day was hazy in the morning and 105 degrees... Odd what sticks in the memory...but it's all there somewhere and can be retrieved if I make the effort.

Spring In Warren

3/03/08 :
Walking today I see flies sunning themselves on the wall, which to my spirit is like being reborn, as if some equatorial breeze has penetrated these cold mountains and reminded me that 'yes-the Earth continues to revolve around the sun in the law of the seasons.' Water flows in every street gutter so that by late morning yesterdays icicles have already succumbed to the warmth. Should I expect spring to arrive in the next hour? No, but the door has been left ajar and I shall wedge my foot in the opening.
I hear the sound of water dripping from the eaves as I watch mallards mating on the Conewango, so I know that the months of dreariness finally are nearing their end. People pass by on bicycles in shortsleeves, prematurely perhaps, but that is how determined they are to break the spine of winter. The March sun is warm enough that it is not foolhearty rather a reckless liberation for them.
Spring, my old comrade-where have you been this year? But for a few days in early January I have not talked to you since October. You have tested my patience like a prisoner counting the days to his release. My feet have grown weary of slipping on ice and my cold skin has threatened to penetrate my heart. But the flies...The flies! They buzz as if no time at all has passed, now chase one another like spring lovers. They cannot afford to lament the months of winter so go about their pleasures on this warm afternoon. They are the first spring robins to my eye, more trustworthy than a March thaw, and I stand in the sun beside them to let them fly about my ears. Flies in spring do not bother me as they might in June, rather are my answered prayer more reassuring than rosary beads or ancient texts. They are the preachers Nature sends to me when I am cognizant enough to witness, and tell me to hold on awhile longer; the grass will be budding soon.
By walks end I am a new man, hopeful and jubilant for the spring I had feared might desert us-but that is the power of sunlight in a town blessed with everything else.

(FLY photo courtesy of Jill Olerich-check her out!)http//www.flickr.com/photos/jilloelerichphotos