Walking Is A Way Of Life Poem by Frank Avon

From childhood on
I walked the woods
and hills of Tennessee:

just a-thinkin' -
daydreaming
my parents complained.

I wrote plays,
and won national elections
and fell in love several times.

I've always walked
and thought
and composed myself.

I've also composed
lectures, essays, letters,
editorials, poems, orations,

and kept them in mind,
word for word, until
I could find a pen and paper.

I never thought of it
as exercise; I never realized
how important it was for mental health.

I was simply walking,
and talking to myself,
losing myself, finding myself,

on streets around my college,
around Sherwood Forest,
to a park near my apartment,

on an abandoned golf course
pulling my boys in a wagon,
along the route the bus took,

down a steep hill and up again,
way out on a country road,
all around our neighborhood,

through a protected forest,
under some power lines,
on a trail that used to be a railroad,

on and on and on,
in all kinds of weather,
in every stage of my life

until

no more the exercise
no more the composure
no more mental health

instead

heart disease and breathlessness,
bad knees and unsuccessful surgery,
weakness and fatigue and dizziness,

still

I walk a block or two
up to the neighborhood church
and back home again

or to the end of our cul-de-sac
and very slowly back
with our dog on his leash.

It's time enough for a poem
(well, a haiku, at least)
or a letter to the editor,

and time enough
for memories
of the way it used to be,

and time enough
to wish
for more time.

I walked the woods,
I've always walked,
I was simply walking,

Walking is who I am.