Walking

One of my favorite activities in life is walking. Every morning this past week, I have walked from Elm Street down to Summit Avenue, to help get my daughter ready for school. Even this morning, when she didn't need a packed lunch or me to get her ready, I walked down, at 6:45 a.m., to make sure all was well with the world, prepare some coffee for my wife, and then move on.

And then I will walk to work, through Lincoln Park, across the Empire State Plaza, down State to the cigar shop...today a couple of Arturo Fuentes...light one and finish the walk down State, down Broadway and on the footpath across the Dunn Memorial Bridge.

I can usually get in with time to spare, and cigar aside, it's a good thing to do for my heart.



When in Chicago, I did a lot of walking to. And I plotted out my course. I bragged to my wing gal that I was an urban Magellan, and proved it by getting her everywhere she needed to be. For myself, there were a few places I needed to be, which I would chart ahead and then wing it. Always been a walker.

Lately, however, like today, there is just a small bit of wistfulness in the walk, perhaps an emptiness which I don't usually feel. Taking the cigar and smoking it is usually a wonderful diversion, but sometimes it feels a bit forced. Sometimes walking feels a bit forced, like I am doing it because I have to. That's a bit sad, because walking is truly one of my favorite solitary acts.