Why I Saunter: Revolutionary Rhyming Poem

Many times I walk fast.
A few times, I run.
But mostly I just saunter,
because observing is such fun.
And I see more.
For sure.

Alpine Lake List: Solitude Isn’t So Solitary — Revolutionary Blogging Free Verse

I took a flat,
0.8 mile
saunter,
a not bored walk
on a boardwalk
around Silver Lake.

By the time I’d finished
I’d seen:
A moose cow and her calf;
Two squirrels;
New pussy willows;
One fish carcass;
Haze from a green wood campfire;
Two doe mule deer;
A reflecting lake;
A distant bridal photo shoot;
A towhee;
Two killdeer in flight;
Two beaver (one slap happy);
Three mallards in flight;
An aspen freshly felled by the beavers;
One hen mallard on her nest;
Three ducklings under her wing;
A patch of yellow columbines;
Sunset on mountain peaks;
Glowing new green on an aspen grove;
A rushing, raging, roaring mountain stream;
A new place to enjoy.

I failed to thank my tour guide,
a Dad who taught me to look,
and God.

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Misty-Eyed In An Alpine Meadow: Revolutionary Email Prose Memory

I recently recalled a life-changing event which happened when I first lived in Switzerland in the late 70s. As I wrote about it in an email and have thought about it since, it’s interesting to see how much it reflects my life and belief system.

I once was, with a group of friends, running down a steep mountain trail in the Alps above Luzern. It had started to mist slightly as the clouds rose up off the Vierwaldstaedtersee and slammed into the mountainside.
And then, while my friends ran onward, something caught my ears. In the distance I could hear cowbells (mind you, this was well before “More Cowbell” became popular!). They were the varied notes of dozens of Alpine cowbells, all ringing in uncomposed, yet somehow perfect, harmony, through the mist.
I stopped running, and thought to myself: “When will I ever again have this moment? When will nature and man-made music collide to play this for me?” Instead of running willy-nilly through the Alpine meadows — which, I noticed for the first time, were in early May bloom –, I strolled.
Sauntered.
Sometimes stopped and listened and reflected and learned.
I arrived at the village nearly two hours after my hurried, running friends.
“You missed dinner!” they exclaimed.
Instead, I feasted on cheese, slice apples, and yogurt, which seemed to fit the afternoon.
I could never bear to tell them:
“You missed a world premier performance.”