there is the man with the three german shepherds–i pull my own pup away from them, passing the little free library, i see that peter rabbit is keen to be chosen by someone’s tiny curious hands and i think about my own children and how they’ve grown, and how i love them more than i could have ever imagined loving–how watching them fly away and watching them become such good and kind people has been so joyful, but there, a butterfly flits from one stem to another and its soft yellow beauty transfixes me in the moment as i stop to listen to the humming of the bees–juliet pulls on her leash and i see the grey neighborhood cat approaching, so i walk onto the uneven bricks, crossing the street near the bright purple garden, close to where i once photographed a smashed can of orange crush
On a mid-September morning, we took a walk along the river. It was a southwestern Pennsylvania grey day, a black and white morning, a monochromatic mind set. My worries tread on the hamster wheel of thoughts inside of my head, churning, stumbling, exhaustingly futile. In the distance, a great blue heron stands regally, barely recognizable, probably scouting his breakfast. The pup and I watch the water flow towards the city, and experience a strange vertigo for an instant, a letting go, a weightless sensation that passes quickly and momentarily knocks the worries from my mental track giving me enough time to hold onto other thoughts—the soft clouds, the bridge in the distance, the lushness of the trees, the temporary silence. I slow my breathing and pet the pup, “let’s go girl”, I say and walk gently forward.
on a walk,
I take a camera and shoot pink petals
and tiny buds through an old iron fence,
my mind blank,