Thoughts on My Walk

I experience deep emotion when I walk, particularly on the hills.

The movement of a pathway cutting through the slopes feels almost alive as it bears me through both sunlight and shade. And the trees lining some of those paths are, at the moment, so impossibly young and vibrant, so indomitably proud and breathless, so unrealistically green in their greenness, that the colour is, for me, the very definition of youth and outstandingly inexpressible beauty.

There’s a yearning and an aching in my love for these young trees and in my inability to hold that beauty to me and keep it forever. I wonder if any of my feelings are for my own lost young-and-greenness?

Yet I revel in what I see, and strive, if I’m with someone, to share the beauty and the sense of overwhelm I’m experiencing. I can’t help it, I want, and have always wanted, so desperately, for others to share that love, which, along with the delight, can arrive hand in hand with a sense of grief for all I cannot share or manage to convey.

One can’t just hang onto spring. It passes, it ends, it grows dusty and it’s over.

This glorious, bright, fresh, young and tangy experience will not remain within me either. Life doesn’t flow that way. New feelings or old feelings will come and go again, and come again and go again, until my days and theirs are over.

And after that, after this life of mine is over, what will come then? An even wider experience of total love and beauty, perhaps a total immersion? Or nothing but an endless sleep?