The Sweetness Was Found Between the Thorns

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Abstract

ves with gilded, exuberant possibility Or evening softens jagged reality, smudges away edges — Either finds me miles from home, mulling, muttering, laughing out loud.I’ve been told that I’m smiling while I walk far and fast and alone.Strangers volunteer “I see you walking” to break polite walls between us As we struggle to find common ground at gatherings Once host has abandoned us to forge other connections.You walk a lot, they say.I know, I say back.You walk alone, they continue as if this is strange or unique.I must walk alone, I answer and smile.I tell them walking is when unexpected poetry erupts, When characters yank and t

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ear and explain the parts I don’t understand, And when I open to what is now and how it feels to be walking with myself Alone with everyone I have ever known, created, and admired.Sometimes we move on to talk about safer, accepted topics, But other times — my favorite ones when I make a new friend — They smile back and say tell me a story and I do:Long ago, a walk turned into ambitious hike with no expectation Of anything more than a small August morning adventure. Brambles beckoned sweetness among the thorns. I plunged in for clusters of ripe, sun-warmed berries And I returned home with juice-stained grin and stories to tell.Many of us walk so our stories can find us.</article></body>

I charged into the brambles.

“If I couldn’t walk far and fast, I should just expire and perish.”

— Charles Dickens

I am that walker, the one who walks far and fast. Dawn arrives with gilded, exuberant possibility Or evening softens jagged reality, smudges away edges — Either finds me miles from home, mulling, muttering, laughing out loud.

I’ve been told that I’m smiling while I walk far and fast and alone.

Strangers volunteer “I see you walking” to break polite walls between us As we struggle to find common ground at gatherings Once host has abandoned us to forge other connections.

You walk a lot, they say.

I know, I say back.

You walk alone, they continue as if this is strange or unique.

I must walk alone, I answer and smile.

I tell them walking is when unexpected poetry erupts, When characters yank and tear and explain the parts I don’t understand, And when I open to what is now and how it feels to be walking with myself Alone with everyone I have ever known, created, and admired.

Sometimes we move on to talk about safer, accepted topics, But other times — my favorite ones when I make a new friend — They smile back and say tell me a story and I do:

Long ago, a walk turned into ambitious hike with no expectation Of anything more than a small August morning adventure. Brambles beckoned sweetness among the thorns. I plunged in for clusters of ripe, sun-warmed berries And I returned home with juice-stained grin and stories to tell.

Many of us walk so our stories can find us.