My daily walk

I decided to take a few pictures while on my walk this morning; a memory, in case development creeps further in and modifies the surroundings yet again. The pictures were all taken with my old-fashioned flip-phone (I don’t like to carry too much on my walks).

I usually start by walking to 108th. In the photo below, the A-frame church on 108th can be seen in the distance, in the lower center of the picture (to be precise, it’s the St. Georges Coptic Orthodox Church).

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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It’s about six blocks to Hawthorne park, and I walk on the north side of the park until I get to the first entrance. Below is a photo of some of the flowering salmon-berry bushes alongside the walkway:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There are three duck-ponds in the park; when the flora is green and healthy, it can be difficult to see the water.

Below is a picture of the pond closest to the west end of the park (a portion of the pond is visible as a brownish patch in the lower center).

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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The gardens at Hawthorne are pleasant to walk through on a weekend morning; quiet, peaceful.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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I don’t usually walk by Minerva, but this morning I did.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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The playground was empty, but I walked around anyway…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Unless I’m feeling particularly lazy, I walk around the park and onto 104th; I turn east, an empty business development on my left. It is an interesting building; perfect for a tàijíquán, yoga or Buddhist base.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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I exit the sidewalk on 104th as soon as possible by turning north into a cul-de-sac; near the end of this street a Hydro-path cuts through the forest to the west and houses on the east (to my left). This morning the hydro lines were humming: hnnngdznnngnnndz.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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The Hydro-path (as I call it) is a nice use of land that has no commercial value. The path was (I presume) built by B.C. Hydro: there was always a path, of sorts, through the wilderness, but the well-maintained walkway makes it a tad more inviting, especially when the wildflowers are in bloom…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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The Hydro path crosses over a small creek, but at this time of year  the bushes and flowers obscure the waters…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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As I was about to leave the Hydro path this morning, onto the roadway at the other end, a bird flew over me and into the forest; as it passed overhead it called to me: follow me, follow. But I continued on my way.

As always, with any walk, there is a path not taken…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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I usually don’t cut through the empty lot down the block, but this morning the path was inviting (it can be a bit threatening at dawn & dusk)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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In the (very large) empty lot, there are a couple of old trees that blew over in a wind-storm several years ago, but the trees are still alive and healthy. The picture below was taken a while ago, when one of them was flowering (as you can see, part of the lot has a nice gravel trail through it, provided by the City of Surrey. At one time, a park was planned for the land, but I’m thinking the administrators might change their mind if a developer makes an offer. I hope not):

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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The picture below is the final bit of the empty lot; civilization is just behind the row of trees, and I can almost see my home…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Well, that’s about it. I missed out quite a few spots, but I might do this again in the fall (and maybe with a better camera).

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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An Afternoon at Bear Creek Park

It’s not often that I can get the whole family (myself, my wife, Catherine, and my two daughters, Bailey & Brynne) out for a walk anymore, but I managed the feat last weekend, and we enjoyed a lovely stroll through and around Bear Creek Park.

It was a beauteous day: the universe opened up above us with all its potential resplendence; nevertheless, none of the images I recorded for posterity documented anything much higher than my shoelaces. Below are a couple of examples: the top image was the highest extraterrestrial vector I managed…

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Winter Sunrise

Winter sunrise

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Walking through the

Forest; dark verdure,

Gnarled fingers working

Phthalo clay.

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I exhale, admiring the

Pearl-shrouded purity,

That frozen moment before

An in-drawn breath.

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High above me

A hawk rides the sunlight,

Splayed tail ablaze;

Luminous amber, rust-red.

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I soar upward, yet sink inward…

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Back on earth, now,

I continue along my path

With a renewed appreciation

Of the unfathomable.

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The other

An odd moment occurred while I was out for my morning walk; I attempted to dismiss it as a phantasm, or the day-dream of a chap who’d read too much popular theoretical physics, Jorge Louis Borges, and speculative fiction, but I couldn’t shake the event from my consciousness.

I was tired; I’d slept in and I had to force myself to get outside for fresh air. About half-way around my usual walk, I came to a fork in the path; I could cut back to the right, a short-cut through the park, or I could continue left, as usual. I felt an odd shimmer deep in the centre of my being; I turned to follow the left-hand path, but he — the other — turned right. He soon vanished into the ethereal space of another world, but I saw him clearly for a moment. He was favouring his left leg, probably due to our sore hip. He turned around, smiled, and said something before he faded into obscurity. His words were swallowed  quickly, as if absorbed in water, but I think he said, “Take care.” He looked exhausted, like he carried a great weight; there were lines of fatigue etched on his face, but he radiated kindness. My heart went out to him, and I wished him well as I continued on my way.

I felt light, energetic, and my mood had risen; I’ve been somewhat moody for the past few weeks, and I suddenly wondered why. I think the other had taken a load of my suffering with him. My hip felt better and my soul was cleansed. He hadn’t taken it all; that would be unfair, but his altruism was stunning.

I wonder how his future will unfold; although he enriched my life, I think his actions raised him to another level. I wish there was something I could do for him. And maybe there is: I can acknowledge his gift by spreading his kindness. I hope I’m equal to the task.

I hope our paths will converge again someday; it would be fun to regale each other with the stories of our separate lives.

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Walking; wonderful moments

A while ago, while out for my daily walk, I saw a Buddhist monk walking toward me.

It was a clear, crisp morning; an ephemeral mist hugged the earth. It was close to zero Celsius, but I was quite warm; I’d been walking at a good clip for over thirty minutes.

The monk looked cold: he was walking very slowly, meditatively.

I was dressed in jeans, t-shirt, sweatshirt, baseball cap, and sandals. The monk was dressed in robes the colour of paprika and cumin. His outer robe (I believe it’s called the sanghati) was pulled high on his body and he used part of it as a scarf, covering his chin, mouth, and ears. His legs were bare and he was carrying something in his hands; it was palm-sized, black and smooth. I wondered if it was a heated stone to keep his hands warm.

I thought about stopping and starting a conversation, but wasn’t sure it was appropriate and I decided that a visit to the Buddhist temple would be the proper etiquette. I’ll probably never go; it seems intimidating, although I’m sure I’d be welcomed.

As I approached the monk, I nodded my head and said, “Good morning.”

He smiled, pressed his palms together in front of his chest, bowed slightly, and said something back to me.

Holy beings are surrounded by a remarkable aura of peace and equanimity. I’d made only a fleeting connection with the man, but he was fully engaged for that moment. We passed each other, and for the remainder of my walk I felt lighter, my feet seemed to barely touch the earth. Something warm and beautiful stirred my soul. I couldn’t quite set it free — I think I tried too hard — but it is there, incubating, sure to find its way someday.

Since then, while on my walk, I smile, nod, and say hello to anyone I pass; usually, I get a stunning smile back. What a wonderful moment.

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On finding the slim man inside of me…

I seek the slim man inside of me and I’ve decided to walk aimlessly every day until I find him.

I see it as a sort of peripatetic Zen; a journey with no tangible destination — the ‘destination’  (a virtual node in the stream of existence) will present itself without conscious effort.

If I walk enough, without a particular purpose in mind, I’m certain to eventually happen upon the man I seek.

I think I’ll practice some Qigong as well; it can’t hurt, will possibly center my being, and will surely increase the density of synchronistic events surrounding me.

But I’m convinced it is the walking that will lead me to the man I seek: “…a man returning home by climbing over a hedge, to the surprise of his walking companion. Oh, how I love to reach home by climbing over the back fence, and to travel on bypaths!” [from the preface of Lin Yutang’s The Importance of Living(p. v – vi)].

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encounter with a bird

On the way home from work several yeas ago I stopped for a ‘cleansing’ walk in Pacific Spirit Park.

I kept to the public pathway until I spied an intriguing, overgrown deer-path. I held my breath and looked both ways along the public path; heard nothing, saw nothing, so I climbed over the rustic, wooden fence and followed the deer-path as it wended its way between maples and alders. After a few minutes I came to a particularly pleasant spot: a circle of alder trees delineated a clearing about ten meters in diameter. A large, flat boulder — stippled grey-green — sat in the middle of the circle.

A rustling caught my attention; at the edge of the clearing, to my left, a small bird regarded me out the corner of her eye; her feathers were mottled greys and pale yellow-greens; these colors, along with her moss-green head and elongated, ochre beak, provided natural camouflage against the leaf-strewn earth.

She began to chatter her beak while simultaneously producing a guttural cawing.

I took a step toward her; she hopped backward and discharged chatter-caw profanity, so I sidled a wide-berth around her and sat on the boulder. She seemed amenable to sharing, as long as I respected her personal space.

She glanced at me, hopped about, and then flew into the branches of the tree directly behind her. She was filled with nervous energy; she flitted down to the ground, then up into the next tree, down, up, down, working around the clearing counter-clockwise from tree-to-tree. When she was about three-quarters of the way ’round the circle, paranoia bubbled up from the dark depths of thought: I imagined that she was spinning a trap; I jumped up, dashed out of the clearing, and back to my car.

Once inside the car I had a good chuckle at myself.

The next day I decided to go back to the clearing. I couldn’t find it. I’ve searched a half-dozen times, but I must have forgotten exactly where I’d stepped off the public trail.

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At Hawthorne Park

The fresh smell of welcomed rain — petrichor — fills the air.

The slight dampness has enlivened the birds.

They are well-fed

And sing with

Healthy vigor.

I pass a young couple;

They smile, I nod my head.

Moss on brittle branches.

I slow my pace,

Favor my left knee

And sit, warming a lonely bench that faces the forest.

A gust of wind reveals a shopping cart among the trees.

A man searches for answers in a garbage can.

I carefully drop some

Coins and they make a

Satisfactory rattle on the path.

I walk home slowly;

The day is somewhat

Brighter.

 

Thanks Brynne…

Below is a list of the songs I listened to on my walk yesterday; mostly country-rock  (and a special thanks to my daughter, Brynne, who gave me her ‘old’ iPod, which makes walks even more enjoyable…):

Return of the Grievous Angel, Lucinda Williams and David Crosby; from Return of the Grievous Angel: A Tribute to Gram Parsons (1999).

New Coat of Paint, Tom Waits, from The Heart of Saturday Night (1974)

Remember the Tin Man, Tracy Chapman, from New Beginnings (1995)

5 Days in May, Blue Rodeo, from Five Days in July (2005)

Hard to Explain, Cowboy Junkies, from Pale Sun Crescent Moon (1993)

Down to the Waterline, Dire Straights, from Dire Straights (1978)

River Runs Deep, J.J. Cale, from Naturally (1972)

Down by the River, Neil Young, from Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere (1969)

Sweet Home Alabama, Lynyrd Skynyrd, from Second Helping (1974)

Peaceful Easy Feeling, Eagles, from Eagles (1972)

Suite: Judy Blue Eyes, Crosby, Stills and Nash, from Crosby, Stills & Nash (1969)

Ripple, Grateful Dead, from American Beauty, (1970)