As we walked I carried a poem in my pocket just in case the urge to ponder something profound presented itself. But in the end I left it pocketed, and we simply walked with quiet scuffles over uneven terrain and the thuck thuck thuck of boots sunk shallow in the sticky mud of early spring.
The calendar claims spring, but the relentless drudgery of snow and ice makes me question it, huddling in, seeking only safety and warmth in my own walls. But I committed to venturing out, and, reluctant, I pull myself from my shell, and go forth to find renewal.
Up on the Eastern Promenade last Saturday morning we went looking for contrasts. The wind was biting at the top of the walk, and the air all but still once we reached the shoreline. The beauty of the water was marked by intermittent caps of white before us, and the buzz of the city held fast in its concrete over our shoulders. The chaos of our work and world back home was punctuated by the calm of the moment at hand.