Walk Like a Poet

                                                     

I joined this online group, Walk Like a Poet. I thought about it too long and did not get the original $5/monthly rate. However, I now signed up for the annual rate of $70/year. It is going to be interesting to interact with strangers regarding poetry and time spent out of doors. The latter is a favorite activity of mine although I currently spend my early morning hours on the computer with online courses. The sun is coming up and I shall begin my early a.m. time walking the property today. I trust that it will become habit-forming....

.....and with a poem "in my pocket." What a very clever idea! I would like to bring this activity to the senior center. Poetry and walking, sharing and writing - it all works for me and would be something totally new and adventurous.

The program is a weekly experience. One poem posted once a week. Check it out!

https://www3.skool.com/poet/about?utm_source=skooldotcom&utm_medium=website&utm_campaign=user_profile_page

                                                   

Then I found another site for free that the same creator, Kate Boelhauf, has online called 100 Walks. And so I gleefully signed up on that site and am sorting, shuffling, getting acquainted with its offerings. 

https://100walks.com/

from the website:

Because when you walk regularly, you give yourself time to notice. You start looking more closely at places you thought you knew. You follow things that make you curious. You discover tiny worlds, unexpected paths, good sticks, strange objects, changing seasons, and things you probably would have walked right past before.

Into the backyard and down by the creek bed I go ~ with the poem below:

A Bird Came Down the Walk

by Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)

A Bird, came down the Walk –

He did not know I saw –

He bit an Angle Worm in halves

And ate the fellow, raw,

And then, he drank a Dew

From a convenient Grass –

And then hopped sidewise to the Wall

To let a Beetle pass –

He glanced with rapid eyes,

That hurried all abroad –

They looked like frightened Beads, I thought,

He stirred his Velvet Head. –

Like one in danger, Cautious,

I offered him a Crumb,

And he unrolled his feathers,

And rowed him softer Home –

Than Oars divide the Ocean,

Too silver for a seam,

Or Butterflies, off Banks of Noon,

Leap, plashless as they swim.