My walk, my Bach and my blog

September has finally come. After 2 months of intense heat and humidity, we are more than ready for a change of season. Even though for southern Virginia the reality might not take effect for yet another few weeks, the official change of the month digit from 8 to 9 still brought much hope for some reluctant summer’s captives like me who cannot wait to be set free. September means cooler days, golden leaves and dancing air. September means light jackets and boots. It also means shorter days, change of routines, such as my walk.

With the summer’s blazing heat, I had to shift my mid-day walk to morning, and further on early morning (6:30). The route I have been taking has its reputation of “NOT safe”, thus I was cautioned enough not to temper with even further (or earlier) change. Impulsive and undisciplined I may be, I am also a creature of habits that breathes on routines such as my 3:30am wakeup time, the exact parking spot under the same tree, and, yes, the 16-block morning walk to and fro. The insatiable, restless nature in me finds no other better therapy than that 30-minute walk during which all care and fear evaporate soundlessly and effortlessly.

Why would such simple activity that costs so little, time-wise and equipment-wise, does so much good for my mental well-being? I wonder. Every day as the dusk turns to twilight, I would feel the same antsy excitement leaping inside my chest. I put on my walking shoes and grab my IPOD, all ready to revisit the same buildings, streets and trees. With heart thrilled and strides swift and long, I magically morph into that carefree creature, feasting on the birth of another day in its display from the air in the sky to the meager grass on the roadside. For reasons I don’t know still, I am exhilarated beyond words. The paved walk next to the Credit Union takes me to the street back home in my moody and awkward 14-year-old days. The crimson blossom of the crape myrtles above my head reminds me of those beautiful tropical summers when cicada echoed high the thrill and hope of the graduation season. Time has done its magic to heal the past wounds, thus I find myself no longer haunted but smiling at the remnant memory with nostalgia. The street is lined up with mixed architectures, some of which century old and some modern and grand. Those old stone buildings with peeled off paint would instigate my vivid imagination of their past glory while the gated new establishment triggers my curiosity of its new inhabitants, who they are and what their hope and dreams may be. A few more streets further down is the corner where I take my returning direction and meet the breeze from the waterfront that almost teases me to tears every time. It is only 6:45am and there I walk on – streets still half awake, the stone pavement under my feet worn but crispy clean. Across the street sits the park in tranquil beauty under the veiled twilight. And there on the bench was the same man with his computer, quiet and motionless. I wonder if he too is under the spell of the morn as I am.

And let’s not forget my Bach Sonatas and Partitas violin solos – how brilliantly and perfectly they play on, resonating with every emotion I relive. Morning after morning, their magic never fails or fades. Past the city courthouse and banks is where the traffic of the morning crowd starts to pick up. Thankfully my friend Bach provides ample disguise or excuses for me to remain a speculator rather than participant as I march on, surveying the world without any obligation for social etiquettes. For yet a little while longer, there I am still, ageless and fearless, looking at life in a brand new vision. From a pale blue sky surfacing above to a world resuming her day and activities below, everything seems the same and yet so different. It’s amazing how a little distance and distraction can yield such a change of perspective. Even as insignificant and ordinary as a tree with a hint of autumn on its leaves would take my eyes away from the consuming care of this world. I am instantly reminded of how little and brief this life is and how majestic and endless another one will be. All my pitiful strivings appear, once again, ridiculously fruitless in His omnipotent presence.

My walk ends. I have returned to where I started, all sweaty and messed up outside and somewhat improved inside: Calmer, quieter and, for a little while, wiser. The hope follows me as I quicken the step to walk up the stairs, knowing that when my limited effort and vision end I have too another faithful friend, my blog, to help me recapture the revelation. Who else is there like my blog, whose ear is always ready, silence like gold, and patience never ceasing? Indeed it is through the walk that this old gal meets her young soul, and through timeless Bach those two make their peace, but it is my Blog that receives all that irreconcilable differences after the walk. I could not be more blessed than in the company of the threesome like my walk, my Bach and my Blog.