We headed out by foot on a Sunday morning in May from Concord, a favorite place; one drenched deep in the greenery and sustenance of the birth of our country’s consciousness. I loved how the soft fields and dainty fairy flowers inspired our forefathers to pursue fresh, endless ideals; collecting clay pots, oil paintings, bone china but most of all, ideas from around the world. Lives fully saturated in the humble cycles of country life and the grandeur of an evolving world.
In anticipation, you and I took the trail carved by Emerson and Thoreau which they took on lazy rambles, filling the air with inspired chatter. Familiarity arose as we walked on land similar to the land where I was born, humming meadows peppered with fragrant phlox, wet marshes, marked by skunkweed, and groupings of lady-slippers dainty in the forest. As we passed over a silent pond on a single plank bridge, we laughed at the ducks in their nervous quacking.
With my hand in yours, our stroll to Walden Pond was marked in my heart, a golden landmark, just like the sunlight. When we arrived, you swam on your back. I walked the shore singing.
In anticipation, you and I took the trail carved by Emerson and Thoreau which they took on lazy rambles, filling the air with inspired chatter. Familiarity arose as we walked on land similar to the land where I was born, humming meadows peppered with fragrant phlox, wet marshes, marked by skunkweed, and groupings of lady-slippers dainty in the forest. As we passed over a silent pond on a single plank bridge, we laughed at the ducks in their nervous quacking.
With my hand in yours, our stroll to Walden Pond was marked in my heart, a golden landmark, just like the sunlight. When we arrived, you swam on your back. I walked the shore singing.