I remember years ago on Saturday mornings taking the forest rails to the farmers market held in the back of the hall parking lot. As I came closer I would see the blurr of colour and motion through the trees. It always brought me to this timeless tribal feeling – arriving through the wild onto a gathering of humans. I completely bypassed the parking chaos of the local vendors and tourists, and I would depart as unstressed as I arrived. In the country unless I am on a trail I am asked pretty often if I need a lift. Usually I don’t because I choose to walk. No, not by default for car-less living, a bike in the shop or a lazy thumb. Simply I enjoy walking. As hard to imagine I don’t always want to get there faster. It is not that I never feel the crunch of the clock at my heels or end of day fatigue in my legs. In the need for speed, I’ve got my bike but it often too makes everything a bit too fleeting. It’s rare though there is much hurry in winter. It is then I make the most effort to get a walk in once a day. It’s an elusive aspiration because sometimes my woodstove is too warm and my music studio too well-equipped that their allure win out against the cold. If I do make it out though then I tread the twenty-five minute descent to the closest shoreline, always taking my camera. It’s one of my biggest get-out-the-door-motivator begging for a picture before returning home.
