“I
suppose there are those who would find time spent
walking in the park an idyll
they can ill afford...”
By
Patrick J. Walsh
A
patchwork rain accompanies me on my walk this afternoon, dropping chilly little
pin-pricks of pure cold water in my hair and across my cheeks and nose.
I
am tired. As I push myself forward through the mist, I find myself wondering at
some of the things that drive people in life, and some of the things that
people strive toward, in these days that are so often so difficult to
understand.
Although
it presents no appreciable physical hindrance, the rain weighs heavily on my
mood. The dampness conspires with the rapidly approaching darkness to disturb
my peace and rattle my bones, as I shiver slightly after every few strides.
 |
| © Patrick J. Walsh |
"...in the wideness of perspective that is a gift of this
setting, it often seems that I am not walking alone."
I
suppose there are those who would find time spent walking in the park an idyll
they can ill afford at virtually any time of year — and least of all in these
very short days of preparation and observation that mark the holiday season.
I
try to find time to walk in the park even on the busiest days — even when the
weather is against me, and the days are appallingly short, and the chill lays
heavily on my steps.
Each
day, my walk accumulates time and distance, but I seldom consider my daily hike
in terms of the investment of minutes or miles.
In
a similar way, each day’s sojourn requires both the effort to get to and from
the site as well as that which I expend during the walk itself. And again, I
pay little heed to the ‘commute’ required, by foot or by car, when calculating
the costs and benefits of my daily exercise.
All
this evaluation brings to mind my recent re-reading of Henry David Thoreau’s
“Walden” (1854):
“I
grew in those seasons like corn in the night, and they were far better than any
work of the hands would have been. They were not time subtracted from my life,
but so much over and above my usual allowance.”
I
am struggling as I near the end of my walk today. My breath is short and
quicker than usual. My progress along the paved road is slow and labored.
The
last upward slope before I complete my usual circuit seems somehow steeper than
usual. The rain has begun to feel heavier, even though it has not, in reality,
increased in intensity or volume.
My
thinking has also come full-circle as I draw nearer to the lot where my car is
parked. Pondering that which sometimes drives others — and that which drives me
as well, in other circumstances — I come to some resolution about my
inclination to walk in the park each day.
Memories
of this place that I have known so long, and of the people who populate those
memories, play an important role in the drive that brings me to the park again
and again. And in the wideness of perspective that is a gift of this setting,
it often seems that I am not walking alone.
In
both the perspective and the experience, I find plenty of incentive to walk,
regardless of the rain, or the cold, or the early darkness of the day.
©
Patrick J. Walsh
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