Every morning I walk the same path.

Every morning I walk the same path from our home, to the river, to the park and back.

Every morning, I turn left at the end of our driveway, take the next three quick rights and then follow the path as it curves down to the left passing under the bridge to meander along the river’s edge to the park.

Every morning I walk the same path. Every morning is never the same.

Some mornings, the remains of an overnight snow cover the path.

Other mornings, yesterday’s melt has frozen overnight. I must watch out for icy patches as I walk.

Sometimes, the difference is in the sky. Some mornings, it is clear blue or dotted with a few fluffy white tendrils of vapour. Other mornings sheets of grey cover its expanse.

Some mornings, a squirrel will cross my path and Beaumont the Sheepadoodle will tug at the leash, eager to play chase.

Other mornings, a jogger will run past. And then another. One will nod their head and throw out a cheerful “Good morning” as they jog past.  Another will keep running by, eyes lowered or focused on some distant spot straight ahead.

Some mornings, like this morning, the Angel in a Canary Yellow Coat and I will cross paths. She will always greet me with some fact, like this morning’s where she told me she walks up and down the hill 15 times every morning. “It’s my 15,600 steps a day,” she said. “It’s what you have to do once you pass 65. 15,600 steps. You’ll see.” I do not tell her I am familiar with passing 65. Nor that the number is 10,000. I do not want to disrupt her stride.

Same path. Always different.

Unless I walk it with all my senses, all my body closed-off to the beauty and wonder all around me. On those mornings, the path is dull, my journey a monotony of numbered steps passing through my head as Beaumont tugs at the leash hurrying me along.

On those mornings, I miss the beauty of the trees standing in silent communion with the sky. I miss the geese floating on the river. The waves constantly coercing the ice that clings tightly to the shoreline to come flow with it, home, to the distant sea. The sunlight dancing on the water reminding me of the stories of the Fairy Dancers I used to make up for my daughters when they were young.

On those mornings, I cannot hear the quiet steady beating of my heart. The silken touch of the air caressing my cheeks. The way my body feels light and lithe as I walk.

Every morning I walk the same path.

Always, I have a choice in how I travel this path.

With mind and body closed off to the sights and sounds of morning awakening beneath Nature’s tender touch. Or, heart and body awakened to the beauty of the day, the rising of the sun, the caress of the wind, the breath of nature unfolding in the world around me connecting me within all of nature.

Every morning I walk the same path. Every morning is never the same.

____________________________

Yesterday, David Kanigan at Live & Learn shared a post and a poem that moved me. Earlier, when I’d been walking along the river, I’d been thinking of how I always take the same path and still it’s always different.

And then I read David’s post about walking the same route every morning and taking photographs for the past 291 days. His photos are beautiful. His words exquisite and the whisper of my path, my walk kept rippling out.

Thanks David for the inspiration to keep exploring the idea that the path is always the same but what I experience is always an invitation to step into the wonder and beauty and find my way home to my heart.

11 thoughts on “Every morning I walk the same path.

  1. Somebody famous – I think it was Archimedes who said something similar about never stepping in the same river …

    I think walking the same paths, same routes have added value because it’s mindless muscle-memory that moves our body, so we don’t have to notice new things – and then we notice the nuances, the little things. But also, we see things differently every time, and our mind wanders to other things every time.

    Keep walking that path – it will be different every day. Because you are different every day too. It’s a bit like that river thing Archimedes talked about, every time we dip our toes into Louise, it’s a new river every time

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Agree with all of it. And I also commented on Dave’s post in the same manner as you do in yours today…. isn’t that interesting? And what does it tell us about ourselves? And about the ‘company’ we keep? Such a rich gift, day after day after day….
    What you describe ressembles vaguely my ‘normally daily’ (but lately not so because I fell – again – and am in pain on my legs) walk. Not always (far too few times really) right down to the little lake, but to our small shopping cen ter where I get fresh bread, flowers, bits and pieces and where I often see the same ppl in the streets and places. And I’m always glad that we don’t have to wear masks on the streets (yet, although many wear them everywhere), so that we can nod to each other, have a cheerful short exchange at a distance, give each other a smile on the way…. and it also warms the giver’s heart!

    Liked by 1 person

    • You and my sister share the same limited capacity to walk — and though she can walk more than 12 steps – she is never without pain. So very sad and hard and debilitating. Sending you much love and light to lighten your journey. ❤

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    • It’s interesting Dale, 9 walks out of 10, I walk along the river. And then, one morning, I’ll decide to take the path up the hill, turn left at the top and walk through Bowmont Park, walking upriver. For Beau, it’s not as much fun as it’s all animal reserve and no off-leash. But I sure do love the views and vistas from when the trail dips and soars along the escarpment, up and down following the river’s course and the rolling nature of the landscape.
      And yes, always different.
      I really enjoy the photos you share of your walks.<3

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  3. I love my walk commute to the university when I am teaching. It’s all about colours and and shapes for me as I love the old houses. Here in the country I notice new and different things every day even if we do the same walk route (which is kind of rare). I love finding colour on full days or listening to the skidooes or the birds or basking in the apricity of the sun despite the temperature.
    I think it’s easier to notice these things when our bellies are full, our heads have a safe haven and our creative brain isn’t stressed by day to day life.

    Like

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