May 2002

That's right, I said .

It's a good word. Perhaps best translated with the Aussie's "walkabout" it can mean to walk, to go about, or to conduct oneself.

But I have decided that heretofore I wish to be referred to as the peripatetic vicar. No, I did not say the 'very pathetic' vicar, but the peripatetic. I like to walk.

I even like the sound of walk. The glorious way that the -lk rolls off the tongue.
lk
lk
lk
lk
lk
lk

Add that to the sonorous ring of wa.
wa
wa
wa
wa
wa
wa

Walk. What a glorious word. And the activity is nearly as glorious as the word itself, most days. Especially when the sun is shining and the breeze blows through the trees, giving a crisp rustling sound, there is scarcely a finer moment.

There are few gifts better than the blessing of being able to walk on a sunny day with a dear friend, to talk about everything and nothing, and to wind it all up with breakfast at Milliways, the Restaurant at the End of the Universe.

Well, maybe that Milliways thing is optional. Personally, I haven't quite made it there yet myself, at least not on a walk. That's a little tricky, crossing that vast a gap of time and space on a walk. After all, my average walking speed is only about 6 km/h (that's about 3.6 mph) so even on a long walk, from Langford I'm lucky to cross into either View Royal or Colwood. Which is to say not very far at all. Hardly enough to slingshot the moon and escape gravitational pull. Now if I could walk 8 km/h... but no. We shall not dream of such things.

I'm half tempted to enclose a map fragment at this point, but I don't wish to break more copyrights than absolutely necessary, if you know what I mean.

But I guess I'm just really grateful for the ability to walk... one of those little gifts you take for granted until it is taken from you. Every morning I look at my feet when I put on my socks and remember. Then, as blistered and tired as my feet may be, the joy of the walk returns.

. A beautiful word, for a beautiful action.