Walks with Asha

I made a map that tells a story – about where I’ve walked (and about getting to know wooded paths and trusting how I find my own way). 

Listening to the whispered wisdom from leaves of an unfamiliar shrub encourage me to meet myself with tenderness as I explore the next iteration of my work. 

Lying on a frozen pond, trusting the ice will hold me, feels akin to the decision-making that took me away from the solid ground of the familiar.

How journaling the phrase “headed into the woods” turned “heart” into a verb. (And what happened next.)

Walking by the beaver pond with Asha, expecting to see Canada Geese but finding the pond empty of birds, prompted me to consider wonder, both noun and verb.

How Asha’s instinctive No led me to begin to acknowledge and respect my own body’s No’s — without layers of Supposed to or Should.

So many delights and I haven’t mentioned the bluets, Canada-mayflowers, sensitive ferns and all the plants whose names I don’t yet know. Nor Asha’s chipmunk-chasing and puddle-lying. By the time we return home, I feel deeply nourished and energized by this meandering and visiting with woodland neighbors. When I sit down to write, my inner critic Norma starts to intrude on the deliciousness of my walk. “No one cares about your delight,” she says. Read the full story at walkswithasha.com/stories.