In this time when the everyday patterns of our lives have been upended, and chaos seems to confront us on too many fronts, many mornings I am fortunate to be able to walk through a garden, along a path bordering a bay and into a small and barely frequented park next door, planted with tall trees draped with moss. I try to stay widely open to receiving the beauty my eyes receive, feel graced when the breeze cools my cheeks and blows through my hair, but seem to find myself most focused on my footsteps underfoot, brick pavers, grass, newer concrete flecked with silica, stained by dirt, mold, algae, or engraved by palm fronds sent to visit, gifts for wet cement. It’s the sense of groundedness I seem to crave these days. The ground still there. My walking meditation prayer.
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