At the Edge of the Woods

I was not familiar with the term greenway until I left Wyoming for subtropical Florida. Ever green lands were where other people lived.

I still marvel at the green that is the South. My county has a population very close to the entire state of the high plains desert that is Wyoming.

The magnificence of its mountains is indelibly etched upon my heart. I missed those mountains for years–truly yearned for–those wide-open spaces of an inland sea turned desert.

In a time past, I needed space in a land of trees but no more. Now, it is to a greenway I go, to the edge of its woods.

My mind is at its best at the edge, a collage of images playing for time. It has been two years–maybe more–since I walked a greenway. It is my first run with a walker.

Distance is no longer a qualifier. I go, however far that may be.

I chose this walker for its solid rubber tires, sturdy for gravel and steady for sand. I knew my legs would never have the stamina they once knew yet they still had strength.

To right a ship is not to make it new but anew.

It’s a matter of sensation, and that declines with age–for everyone–it is not lost, just redefined. For me, it requires a trip to the edge of the woods. That’s the distance to go. And so, I do.

My rubber wheels adapt to the gravel and limestone chunks. I pick my path carefully, and I don’t mind the pace. There is a world view in every step I take.

Why not look at these facets of the obstacle that is the path? My purpose is to adapt. It is not the purpose that changes. I do.

And I discover that the world beneath my feet has its moments, too. Why else put one foot in front of the other?

I meander in and around shell fragments and agate chips, where rivulets of rain run. I follow in their ruts.

It is not the walk among the remains of glaciers but on the shore of what, too, was once an inland sea and now a peninsula, albeit temporarily.

Not the same but the same. As I sit at the edge of the woods changed and not.

Aim for Even posts offer equanimity a dose at a time. No day or dose is ever the same, even if the aim is. You may read about the origins of Aim for Even here or on this site’s About page.

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