Walk 20 – Half-Moon Green Space

Breathing life to words, calling them into a prayer

Down the street from me sits a small, sort-of-half-moon-shaped green space. I drive by it every day. I walk by it almost every day. Most days I take my dogs Olivia and Otis through it. I last climbed a tree in 2019 – that tree lives in this space.

I see the first wisps of autumn – tinged red leaves. Whatever the thermometer suggests to my rational mind, today’s 82F weather feels cooler than an 82F day in August.

I walked the perimeter, then carefully and tightly zig-zagged from end to end, as I would if mowing a lawn (or so I imagine, never having mowed a lawn) or painted this space green.

I remain here for a long time. I didn’t wear a watch but it seems like quite a while. An hour?

I don’t think. I don’t feel. I simply am. I let my being exist here, be a part of it, be here. I breathe and walk. I breathe and walk.

My mind begins to form words, seemingly unbidden by me, but how can that happen? I breathe life into the words, to say them, to call them aloud. Like steamed cirri emerging from a teapot, I observe these words emanating from me. The words assemble into a prayer, a simple calling out:

Thank you, Light of Heaven,
For my being,
For this green space,
For the love I feel in life,
For the love I feel for life,
For my being,
In this green space.
Thank you.
Amen.