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Poem

Tuesday. 
Th sun is faint, but our precious breeze 
is alive.
An afternoon of walking.
Walking and feeling and seeing.
An unmarked route around Hermosa Beach.
My only chore of the afternoon was to the bank.
Plenty of pedestrians sharing the sidewalk, cyclists rolling
on the streets. 
People walking dogs, 
dogs walking people.
Fast pacers, slow street crossers. 
Cars in a hurry, always with the windows up,
I don't understand that.
Isolation of the earth around,
headphones in, loud talkers, speedy fingers texting a crucial
message. Blocking the senses, a gift often taken for granite.
I walk uphill and down, hearing the tide brush up on sand.
 Many walk with company, chirping to each other the days trivial problem 

I have been trying to refrain from my cynical judgement.
Hesse rights on not being able to control the world around, and just to 
be apart of it and embrace. 
I agree.

I stop at my favorite bench to read.
Freezing the ongoing time,
love to be frozen with no expectations.

Geoff Nicholson, " The Lost Art of Walking "
I enjoy his words.
Inspiring me to walk more but the notion has always
been there. To write you must absorb,

absorb your mind, surroundings, energy.

laugh at the child telling her parents she has a 
red lollipop, and her brother has a bruee one.
Listen to the homeless stringing their guitars.

I sit and I read by the coast, occasionally popping my eyes out
to catch the stimuli. 

I wonder what others think when they walk.

The strand not so popular today.

I walked and enjoyed my solitude of thoughts and 
convseration in my head. 

I don't know what I wish to achieve on these walks, 
serenity is one,
maybe seeing a shy girl reading is another

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