Walking

I walk for the dog,
the way his ears flap and bounce
as he takes off down the road and into the field
where the prairie dogs chirp.

I walk for the plants,
the mullein and willow and cattails,
the Colorado grasses as they bloom golden and seed
and wave in the wind.
For their smells and soft faces turned towards the sky.

I walk for the birds,
the flickers and meadowlarks,
the robins and magpies,
the finches and the sometimes hawks and even eagles.

I walk for the clouds,
for their shapes and scents as they drift
towards the highlands
and spread out over the flatlands.

I walk for the mountains,
the slabs of stone thrusting from the earth in the distance
and the smaller crumbled and slanted foothills.

I walk for my legs and hips,
for my heart and mind,

to remember that pulse of life.

But I walk most for the feeling of all these friends bring,
the sense of pure joy that rolls through my body and through the life I carry inside me.
I walk for the two of us,
that we may together know the essence of the morning,
the contented peace of evening
in these wild places.