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Walking changes time,
As slowly as one moves
Along the way
Time slows down,
Days become lost.

Through rocks and fields,
Mud and streams,
Along high traverses,
Looking down on beautiful valleys.
Over steep mountains,
Alongside tumbling waterfalls,
Through mist and clouds,
Sun and rain,
Knowing there is a destination
For today,
And no other way to reach it
But to keep on moving.

Through those gates
Into pools of mud,
Delicately balancing
On just visible stones,
Hoping to stay out
Of the deepest, wettest mud
That pours over ankles
Soaking socks, boots and feet;

Then you look forward
To a day of squelching on,
And on, and on
To that destination of today.

Time slows down,
As the mind becomes absorbed
In the beauty of the moment,
The rolling emerald green hills,
The jagged peaks,
The sounds of birds and gurgling water,
The subtle colors of the moors,
Purple thistles, waving grasses.

Stone walls so carefully crafted,
Stone barns so steady and strong,
The cottages and houses
With their perfectly crowded
English flower gardens.
Reds, oranges, yellows,
Blues and purples
And every shade of the rainbow.

In the steady movement
Of each foot
On and on
Up and down,

Time to keep drinking water,
To chew those almonds,
To place each foot perfectly
On as close to solid ground
As possible.

This is walking time,
That is a path to freedom,
To be with Mother Earth,
And one Self.