I Walk Briskly

I walk briskly. The elements strike my face. I stare at the sun and I stand outside in a maelstrom.
I greet those whom I pass. I trip not seeing the uneven pavement. I hear the music. I smell the aroma. I taste the abundance. I walk briskly.
I walk briskly and in tempo. I feel the cobble in the street ‘neath my feet. I feel the cashmere of my socks softly ‘gainst my peds. I feel the tightness in my hands after a salty meal.
I hear the chorus of man. The melody rings and clangs, the din of culture. I hear the want, the cries for love, the fear of death, loneliness and public speaking.
I taste the hunger, the desire for the real, the flavour of truth, of depth, of sincerity. The sweetness of concern, the satisfaction of authenticity is all anyone wants but what no one talks about.
I embrace a friend. I feel the sadness in their marrow.

“Oh my friend, I love you. With this embrace I wish to calm your trembling. I wish to soothe your pains. I wish to warm your shivering soul and to apply a cool salve to your burned heart. I wish to make you whole with touch, with embrace; with love that does not begin with, nor do I wish it to end with, me.”

I walk briskly, but it seems not so briskly as when I started walking. I now walk with a sore knee and a pebble in my shoe. I walk, with joy, with hope, but I tend to look at the ground more and check for cracks and chewing gum. I’d like to pick up the pace and walk like I did when I began walking, freer, younger and bolder, but it’s dark out these days and I’m not sure where I am or where I’m going.

I walk, I walk, but I do not walk alone. I walk with those I love. We walk together. And I try and walk in the light.