Drawing from the sketchbooks of Charles Peterson.
The Solitary Walker
A walk with someone else beside you, in front of you, behind you, qualifies your
steps, your direction, your meaning and mood.
Though the walk to the lake may be familiar, it is never the same.
Time of day and weather conditions, though unmentioned, immediately affect the
What one sees, though it be familiar, is also not the same.
A walk, to be most meaningful, most meditative, most astonishing, must be
Talk destroys quiet perspective.
Thinking, the mind in a muster of images or memories to be talked out,
diminishes reflection and surprise over the most mundane rock, weed, bird, tree,
or farm in the landscape that seeks the solitary walker’s attention.
The delicacy of both sound and silence are lost to walkers.
The walker alone becomes these.
Editor’s Note from No-man’s Land: What I miss during these says of illness are my morning walks. My energy level barely gets me from the house to the coop without tiredness setting in. I sit at the desk and view the road from my window, wishing to be on it, breathing the crisp air. To leave the house and meet the new day on the road as the sun is breaking. To sense the light washing down upon you brightening your every step. Sounds—the whole symphony of spring. Getting inside the new day as it opens and begins to shape the words you will write today. –Norbert Blei