Out trudging our surrounding vales and hills yesterday, doing a mile in the afternoon, pushing for some cardio. Though a wintry sense hovered in the air, an inspiring freshness imbued it. Rain seemed headed my way from smell and look and the sun was taking a slow dive through purple and red scales. Such an atmosphere kicked in a well-remembered walking song, “Ramble On”, by Led Zeppelin (1969).
When I was young, my mother always told me, “You have two legs. Walk.” She also regaled us with her youthful walks. She lived in a tiny town, Turin, Iowa, on the floodplain’s edge. Her walk to school wasn’t far. Walking was the normal means of getting about town, and the town was made for walking. I know, because after hearing from her, I visited Turin one year, and walked around it. It’s just a few blocks square.
Her insistence that I have two legs and can walk kicked in a walking habit for me. Walking is mode of transportation, alone time, and a meditative process. It invigorates my writing efforts. Naturally, it also fuels memories. Playing into memories comes music. I always played some in my head when walking.
I had transistor radios when I was young. They were cheap and broke easily. Didn’t help that I would drop them. Battery-operated, new batteries was a constant issue. So, the music had to come from my head. “Ramble On” quickly became a walking fave. Its guitars, drums, and vocals, found an eager fan in my thirteen-year-old self. That thirteen year old seems to still be alive inside.
Stay positive. Test negative. Etc.