First you take a step, then you take another.

That’s how you go for a walk. Especially on days you don’t feel like it, but you’re not feeling that great moping not taking a walk either.

Don’t worry about where, how far or for how long. Just one step out the door, and listen to where your feet want to go. Stay awake to what’s around you. Watch for cars.

Tonight there was to be no walk. I had worked late and felt leaden. Then I thought, well, you can check the mail box. No mail, but once the feet were moving, they didn’t want to turn around. There was much to experience: a night hawk and a great-crested flycatcher in the grocery parking lot. A heavily pregnant doe. The yellow light from within a garage--like a cave--with an old man sitting in a folding chair, surrounded by deer, dried corn scattered at his feet on the concrete. Stained glass lit from within of a blue-gowned Rebecca at the well. A very large bat soaring and dipping. A mimosa in fragrant pink bloom.

When I first moved here, I got lost several times, failing to learn which streets connect to which. I finally remembered--look to the sky. Walking out I chase the sunset in the west. To return, keep the sunset to my back. If it’s the right time of month, aim for a rising moon home. I have not been lost since.

One step and another. The moon round and heavy hung before me the length of the street: a sun-mirror, almost too much light to behold.