Walking is an Act of Rebellion
A poem about walking
There were lots of other things she could be doing. A part of her believed there were lots of other things she should be doing.
Spending time with her toddler. Working. Figuring out where all of her money went this month. Making a better budget.
But she chose not to do those things. She chose to walk.
Not to jog. Not to run. Not to speed walk.
She chose to walk slowly. Very slowly.
She packed a coffee mug and sipped.
Each step, trying to notice how her foot hit the ground and rose up again.
She noticed the flowers first. And nearly cried. Their beauty, aliveness. She allowed it to overwhelm her. To see and feel deeply their mutual existence.
She thanked the trees, flowers, birds and bees for existing. She touched them gently, to say “hi, I see you, and I appreciate you.”
She saw runners, joggers and other walkers. Some in a hurry, some not.
She thanked herself for slowing down. For the small but many decisions she’d made to do less and be more. That’s her resistance. That’s her rebellion. That’s her freedom.
