Walking. Steady tread, swinging feet, a rhythm. Strange how walking, given long enough, seems easier than standing still.

It’s hard to stop looking at the horizon, but it’s necessary. It’s such a very long way away; to keep my eyes fixed on it will drive me mad. And wherever I’m headed, where I am is right here. I need to settle here like a tree rooted in movement. I’m learning to live in the journey.

1 comment
  1. A wonderful dance of words and paintings. I don’t know where it is, but I’ve been there.

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