Tag: walking

Three Steps to Summer

James HoganLeave a comment

A late afternoon has crept upon me and I find myself somehow surprised that it already has ticked near on 5pm. It is a simply gorgeous spring day here even if a bit warmer than I would desire. The sun still shines overhead and the breeze ruffles my shirt and reminds me that summer is not yet here. I almost let this afternoon slip away, drowsing away the weariness at home. Yet…upon looking outside and seeing the day blazing brilliant blue, how could I stay indoors? And so on go the shoes, with book and laptop tossed in backpack and away I went. It’s been a while since I’ve done the afternoon EQ walk. And though it isn’t quite EQ anymore – not sure I will ever be used to calling it Caffvino – it is lovely to sit here on the porch once more and enjoy the steady hum of the conversations round about. The music layers on and then also the traffic sounds are omnipresent as one may guess. I do find myself amused at the music playlist choices. While at one time it was punk and rock and emo angst, now…well, sounds more like hipster-folk-core or some such. Sounds like music one might listen to as they drive the mountain roads, camping gear slung on top. Definitely not the music of EQ of old.

Now what shall my fingers dance on to talk about? I suppose I might further share the loveliness of the day and chronicle my morning. I woke up later than typical but it was still early enough to enjoy a walk before the sun had fully risen above the horizon. A quick cup of coffee was brewed into my little to-go cup and onward I walked – MKT trail as is proper of a morning. Oh how beautiful sang the day! It was just cool enough that I relished the warm sips of coffee I would take from time to time and yet just warm enough to make me think of springtime. And speaking of springtime…as I walked down the trail, I caught a whiff of loveliness and stopped of a sudden. Could it be? And yes it was. The first scent of jasmine of spring. Always a delight and it will never not be one of my favourite moments of the year. I looked to my right and saw the very first delicate blooms of jasmine on the hedge that ran along the trail. How could my heart not sing? Ah how I love the jasmine flower and the memories that come with! With renewed joy I walked further down the trail down to the bridge, the spot from which many times I have stopped and thought and mused and prayed and this day I let my eyes dance as they gazed upon the bayou stretching towards downtown and the far-off buildings that seemed as dwarfs under the eastern sky. The sun now said hello in full and shimmered in a friendly manner and reminded me that a lovely day was at hand. I walked back and let my eyes rest upon the construction work that some may call a blight yet I find a treasure. The old buildings with the faded “COMPANY REFINERY” upon the side are now being renewed once more, the faded bricks glorified as the new windows are fitted and the surrounding ground turned over in preparation for what is to come – unknown to me yet I hope perhaps for something more than a retail park or office spaces. We shall see. Yet it gives me joy to see buildings not torn down and tossed asunder but renewed and made to rise again in splendour. I walked past the construction site and soon enough found myself almost home. I stopped to stretch and laughed to myself at how good my legs felt in the process. Does this mean my legs are not quite as young as they used to be that I find such pleasure in the perfect feeling of completion that comes after a proper stretch? Perhaps, perhaps. I have been accused of not looking as young as I used to, after all. Later on in the day, I would receive a comment from someone who had not seen me in a while remarking upon my salt and pepper hair. Well, I will not deny that my years have crept up upon me. And I will in that acknowledgement look up to heaven and say a prayer and praise my God for all that He has granted me. This has been a good day. It has been a day that I have been reminded that even as I turn towards sunset there is a far country that calls my name.

Tidbits

James HoganLeave a comment

A lovely Thanksgiving morning here. Slept in past 630am, which is almost unheard of these days. Showered, got the coffee going. And then although usually I would sit in my cozy corner chair and have my quiet time, could I pass up an early morning Thanksgiving walk when it’s as glorious outside as it is? A beautiful 48 degrees when I stepped outside, coffee mug in hand. Down the street I went and then meandered my way down the MKT trail heartily enjoying the fresh crisp air, breathing deep and feeling gloriously vibrantly alive. I confess I don’t enjoy many things more than an early morning walk in the cold, sipping fresh hot coffee as I go. And there’s something about the early morning walks that bring out the best in people. Usually when I walk this trail, though the people watching is superb, one doesn’t address people as they pass. But early morning times feel special, as if we are all part of a private club that knows these times are the best times to be out and about and walking and that everyone else is missing out, really. So down the trail I walk, exchanging smiles and good mornings with the people I pass. There are many joggers of course, and a few dog-walkers (like the young mom and child that I pass as they let their dog sniff and take his time) but there are also walkers like me, enjoying the excuse to wear a warm hoodie and walk down the trail this lovely Thanksgiving morning. Eventually I reached my usual turning point and I turned around and began walking back home. I was stunned anew by the beauty I saw above and around me, seeing the leftovers of the sunrise strewn across the eastern sky. Homeward now! No less beautiful was this leg of the walk even though now my heart felt full to bursting. Prayers were said and more smiles were exchanged with the walkers that I passed. Soon enough, my legs found their way back inside the house, where somehow the apartment had done such a good job holding its residual heat that I felt I was stepping inside an oven! A 20-degree differential will do that, I suppose.

Now I finish the remnants of my coffee and think it’s time to brew another cup. Soon enough the Dani will wake and then we will begin to think of walk round 2. But for now, I will enjoy the flickering candle on the table, the Tchaikovsky playing in the background and soon a book upon the lap and a hot mug in my hand. I have oh so many things to be thankful for this day.

Teatime

James HoganLeave a comment

I have been trying to write winter poetry and failing miserably. Alas it is not to be this night. Hence I switch to prose, the last resort of the poet who refuses to believe his muse is dead. Or temporarily incapacitated. One hopes only temporarily. But sometimes the fire burns within and one simply must write or else he feels as if his soul will crumple in on itself like a big ball of wadded up notebook paper that is scrunched so tight that it may yet yield to the tendency to become a black hole. Yes, that is the correct feeling, finally put in words to burn in their very temporal state. But where was I? Ah yes, talking of poetry and poets and their unsurprising failures. As for me, switching to prose often feels like a defeat, yet I long to snatch victory from its jaws yet. I too am a shepherd boy – or at least I attempt to model myself after one such – and so I too can fiercely extricate this prized lamb from the lion’s jaws. Scratch that last. Dreadful metaphor, quite mixed in theme and usage. To continue. Sometimes prose pieces are fun, sometimes they turn out dreadful too. This one feels whimsical and experimental enough, I am actually somewhat pleased. It amuses me, I will allow it to live. Oh how merciful am I. Now for the piece at hand.

I really did mean to write some winter poetry as I just returned from a lovely walk on this January evening. Finally my humble southern state has been blessed with weather that feels like winter. Temperature in the mid-40s and a nice dry air and a stunning sunset to boot? What have I done to be blessed with such beauty? Well, nothing of course. It’s not all about me. Instead, the glory belongs to another. Musings such as this rolled around in my head as I walked down the sidewalk in my little neighborhood. I thought of the interplay of the small neighborhood with the sky above. The small old houses seem so feeble when compared with the majesty of a winter sunset sky. The clouds stretch up and up, set on fire by the last triumphal notes of the setting sun. The trees contribute a chorus, their branches finally shed of their overly ragged autumnal garments. The branches stretch up and out and contrast nicely against the blues and purples and oranges. But the houses? They seem a bit timid and bashful, their structures not at all suited to be seen in company with the artistry of heaven. An outlier though? The power lines. The power lines start on poles which masquerade nicely as slender wintry trees…and then the lines swoop gracefully, firm and delicate and subtle all at the same time as they highlight the brilliant colours of the twilight. Seeing the power lines hug the sky just as I hug my own arms to myself – well, it brings me a cosy satisfaction. I find delight in the way the mundane creations of this world complement the creations of the one who existed before this world began. It is a thrill to think on such and imagine that just as the power lines point to something greater, so too am I privileged to rest my eyes on the fires of heaven and sing praises to the one on high. Am I also allowed to compliment this moment as my figure somehow complements this scene in which I walk? What does it look like, this frail and faded creation walking on the sidewalk this winter night? Am I too allowed to be thought of as the mundane that points to the beautiful a bit beyond my mortal sight? My temporal hand stretches forth to the eternal. The power lines continue to vibrate in holy tension and I sigh. The sliver of dusk shivers in anticipation of resurrection glories and the waxing starlight sings of a story not yet done. The book is written and the ending sure. But for now, turn one page at a time. Faithfully I read on, now a candle lit beside me as I let my mind slip back to the present. Yet still I remember the stark beauty of that cold and perfect winter sunset sky.