The Joy of Walking

One of my nighttime rituals is to sit on the low plastic step stool on the bathroom floor, soaking my feet in a bucket of warm saltwater. As the warmth spreads, I thank my feet for carrying me through the day. After ten or fifteen minutes of soaking, I dry my feet, then massage them with organic coconut oil — my favorite moisturizer — while planning my next walk.

Caring for my feet reminds me that the ability to walk is not to be taken for granted. These two feet carry me through every life journey, big and small. Each begins with a step.

My earliest memories are of holding my grandmother’s hand as we walked on the village paths of Bangladesh. Her slipper-clad feet, partially visible beneath the end of her sari, took hesitant steps with mine, ready to pause when I lagged.

Grandmother would pause to point to a butterfly on a wildflower or an earthworm making its slow journey across the path. At times, she picked me up and pointed to the tall trees and the sky, making sure I saw the sunlight streaming through the leaves like rays of heaven. Then she would set me down and say,

“See the shadows of the leaves and the branches; it’s as if they are writing their life stories.”

The childhood walks awakened my senses to nature and taught me to appreciate the changes each season brought. The warmth of my grandmother’s hand bridges love beyond our times of sharing.

Those childhood walks quietly shaped how I experience the world today. Decades later, when I go for my daily walks in a town in North Carolina, my steps are light, my heart quickening at the prospect of finding something new around the trees or the ponds.

Before heading out, I check the weather and choose lighter clothes for warm days. Then I slip on my walking shoes, sunglasses, and sunscreen and head for the trail. Once I settle into a steady gait, the rhythmic act of walking becomes meditative.

The increased blood flow to the brain brings snatches of songs, drifting thoughts, and reminders of responsibilities at home and at the office. I breathe deeply, taking in the cloying scent of fresh spring blooms. The cedar trees, green through winter, seem to welcome the vibrant changes in the smaller trees — I join the trees, happy and grateful to be on the trail.

On my last walk, I spotted a blue heron sitting quietly by the pond and even managed to snap a photo with my phone. I wonder if the bird will be there again. A deer drinking from the small stream flowing across the trail lifts its head and looks at me, but it does not flee.

The grass beneath the trees is flecked with purple, yellow, and white from wildflowers, and the stream banks grow brighter every day. Spring seems to be in a hurry to reveal its abundance before summer brings its adventures.

When I pass the sprawling oak tree, two cardinals hover around me. My soul sparks with joy; cardinals are said to bring the spirits of loved ones. Spring, the season of revival, and the cardinal’s presence together bring memories of a loved one who left us one spring.

Suddenly, I look up and notice an owl perched on a lower branch of the tree. It cocks its head from side to side, looking at me. I wonder why it is out in the daytime, and the bird seems to be questioning my presence near the tree. Animal lore says owls bring messages of wisdom and warning. A streak of unease flashes through my mind — was the owl’s presence ominous?

As summer beach trips approach, I look forward to walks on the sand, where sea waves playfully erase the steps I print. Past hikes to wilder places with my friends are an annual tradition, each journey eagerly anticipated.

In winter, there is an amazing telepathy between the nerve endings of my feet, my heart, and my mind. In deep winter, when snow blankets the world, I feel a tingling beneath my feet, as if the whole world is sending invitations. I put on my boots, coat, and hat, then step into the crisp, white snow.

“Crunch, crunch.” I relish the sound — the winter’s melody of a hushed world — different from tapping on the piano keys — but equally joyful.

The snowcapped hedges sit patiently beneath the tall cedars. When the snow is too heavy on the cedar tops, they bend and let the snow drop onto the hedges. The hedges, in turn, drop some of their snow onto the ground. I read messages of sharing in nature — each has a shoulder to lean on.

Walking nourishes my soul and makes me feel part of a greater whole. It becomes my breath of fresh air when the walls of home feel suffocating with stress. Beyond that, walking eases my aching joints and helps me maintain my weight and blood sugar.

While the physical benefits of regular walking are many, for me, it is more about the surge of joy it brings. Given a choice between a shopping trip and a walk, I choose a walk — the pleasure is endless, wherever I walk.

My walks are my life elixir at a time when peace is hidden behind political divides, wars, and natural calamities. Spring, summer, fall, and winter — I love walking outside to feel the wind, get soaked in the rain, or catch the first hint of winter chill in the air.

I look forward to each exciting chapter in life as I blend with nature. As long as my feet can carry me, I know another path waits to walk.

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Nature delights the senses. Movement heals the body and soul. Join us in further activity while you read these inspiring works from our contributors and staff as they center in on the wonder of moving around the natural world.

• March Into Spring – Positivity Corner
• Black Swans: My Favorite Things
• Yoga for Creatives – Fitness for Creatives
• A Sighting – A Short Story
• Destination Inspiration – Fitness for Creatives
• Walking Three Times Daily – Positivity Corner