A short prose poem

I am thinking about when walking was easy. The time to walk not a burden. Now heavy. Heavy with the weight of more to do.

I’m thinking of what it means to walk. Put feet on the ground. One step by one step. Surrender.

Let go and do this over and over again until all that is left is me and my steps.

Walking. The earth. The leg and the foot. The breathing in and through. Letting go of time and distance as a measure for worth.

Let in the cool wind. Shivers and goosebumps. The bee. The honeybee. Full with pollen visiting the pink purple flowers opening. Closing and falling beside me.

Not walking now but on a different kind of journey. Picking up the pen again after too long a silence. What have I been trying to keep silent like a muzzle on my heart?