New Merrell walking shoes, backpack weighed to thirty pounds, two bottles of Gatorade, one in my bag one left in my 2010 Dodge Charger, and my 5 mile walk around John Tanner lake begins. The path starts as a concrete sidewalk, spotted with puddles that I swerve around, that stays within a meter of the beach, man made of course, which forms half of the coast. Three children and an older couple play volleyball by the water taking turns swimming out for the ball when it floats away. The remaining path is a road for the ranger's ford F-150 that winds through loblolly pines. There is a gouge in the pavement is circled in white spray paint on the third turn of the ovaled rectangle path. A perfectly sectioned tree next to it tells of the ranger's hard work clearing the park after a storm. Soon after is bridge, two meters across, pine wood still yellow with youth. Coming out of the woods another student sits on a bench by the water and crooked weeds playing a guitar that is too old for his lack of talent. He abandons "Free Bird" and begins picking his own tune. A duck quacks along off beat. It will take five laps to finish my goal.
Good, now where might you take this from here? I find myself particularly interested in the musician and the gouge in the pavement as windows into a meditation on the difference between the man-made John Tanner and the man-made Italy. Is there some comparison to be drawn between the dangers of Italian sidewalks and the clearly outlined dangers of John Tanner?
ReplyDeleteWhat about this man-made beach? Isn't it intriguing how Italy is very man-made in many ways, but there is a striking difference between this beach and, perhaps, the Colosseum. What meditations might you be able to draw from that? What did these walks prepare you for, and what didn't they prepare you for?
And this musician--it reminds me somewhat of the musicians we pass in Rome. Can you draw comparisons there? I think this memory is a really cool window into your experiences in Italy, and I would love to see more.