Walking Softly

 
 

Awhile back, I read a social media post that suggested walking softly on the earth. It resonated for me at the time because I had just read about how human footfall negatively impacts trees. The post encouraged its readers to walk on the earth as though you were trying not to wake someone who was sleeping nearby. A familiar experience for most, it is not hard to imagine until you realize that every step you take is on the earth. Contemplating the amount of attention and effort that requires would typically be a deal breaker but I am rarely considered ‘typical’.

I began my focus while in the park where a lighter tread is easier to manage. There, I was already walking at a slower pace and the suppleness of the grass and clover underfoot naturally softened my stride. Concrete, however, is a cold mistress. Harsh by design and made to withstand years of wear, its severity is rarely matched. Early on, whatever gains I made on grass dissolved as soon as I reached concrete and, in the city, concrete is everywhere.

Still, I persevered.

Whenever I noticed my step gaining traction and weight, I recalled the sensation of walking on ice. Avoiding a fall on ice calls the body to take greater care, use muscles differently, and focus on evening out one’s weight for both lightness and consistency. When there is no traction to be gained on a slippery surface, a heavier step can spell disaster. The ice memory provided my body with an understanding of gracefulness that was uncommon to me yet very welcome.

The more attention I paid, the longer I maintained a lighter step. The longer I maintained a lighter step, the more natural it felt. As with anything, the more natural something feels, the easier it is to continue and my ventures onto concrete distracted me from grace less and less. Even the newer sandals I couldn’t use for long distances allowed me to walk further and further without fatigue and pain when I engaged my practice in grace.

Continuing my effort for a lighter step is the gift I give to the trees and the lesson of focused attention is the gift I give to myself.

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I Went to the Water

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The Poetry of Trees