On Forest Mojo

And canopied tunnels of love

Walking was like a religion to me at the time, except I went to church at least three times a day, seven days a week instead of just once a week.

For fifteen glorious months nature was my church, my sanctuary.

That was way back when I lived on the far east side of town. Now I live on the west side of town. We have better sunsets over here. But what the east side of town has that the west side does not is a nature trail.

Who doesn’t like nature trails, right?

The nature trail on the far east side of town is approximately four to five miles long. (Plus it was a six-block walk to the trail and six blocks back.) I walked the full length and breadth of that trail and back again EVERY SINGLE DAY. Even when it snowed. And that was only one of my three daily walks.

My morning walks were short and were scheduled to allow me to get to the best spot in time for my sunrise ceremonies. My evening walks were also fairly short and were timed to coincide with the aforementioned sunsets.

That middle of the day walk was the long, long one. On inclement days that walk would only last a couple of hours. On a good day it sometimes lasted well over three hours. That’s a lot of church.