Walk this way.

Kenya, 1967, Tsavo Game Preserve. Our bus had tipped over and thus we walked!

And, in spite of the fact that there had been only a few sprinkles early on during our walk,

Finally, I walked back across the square to the side entrance of the Casa Cultural.

The front walk was transformed, and my socks got wet walking to the car!

Time to go, Grandma. Here’s your walking stick!

I know how to walk! I’m gonna walk my own way.

Sheridan, Wyoming–the only snow I have been able to walk through for the past 23 years.

Beach walking

Home Traveler

Alone, or with the teeming throng,
I go on journeys short or long.
Walking by choice in foreign places,
I study unfamiliar faces.
But when I finally go to bed,
I journey farther within my head,
those trips to town forgotten while
I journey mile after mile.
Eschewing trips to foreign places,
I journey into inner spaces.

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