Why Walden Matters.

The Weight of Worry.

In these moments, I go to Walden.

We all have a place to take our deepest anx, don’t we?

Don’t you?

And even if I’m squashed between an impossibly crammed Friday of errands and events, and looking forward in my planner hours I can’t possibly see a window where in daylight my car will steer me to Concord, route 126 and Walden, until maybe Saturday, maybe Sunday, my mind will take me there to Peace.



I let it.

It looks like the smooth white grey ice of forever, expanding in front and beyond. My eyes gliding rolling unstopping, unhindered by tree by house by man, by thought seizing mind like brake jamming.

It looks like rolling gaze of white on unceasing white on white ice space.

It looks like breath. Air that is filled with only the fullness of birdsong, chirps that climb into the grey blue seeking. Air that still whispers the chill of snow, of frost, but promises light and warmth.

It looks like the thin bare tree arms of mothers reaching into the leaving winter sky. My mother arms reaching. My worrying arms.

I did get to Walden. Eventually. I did see all these things. In my mind. With my eyes.

And my worries. My daughter. In remission from leukemia. The blood story she holds in her marrow, in her mind. Her pain. My pain. I felt it in prickles in my heart when I stood before Walden. I asked Walden to hold it with me. For me. For her. And I breathed long and deep in my belly and I was quiet inside.

I was quiet.



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