I spent a week in the "country," house sitting for my brother's family. It was to be a kind of working vacation, since I still had an online class to teach, and there were a handful of very easy chores to do, mostly involving their dogs and cats. After barbecuing for a couple days, I joked that I was on a grill-cation. Because I slept in and napped a lot, some referred to my trip as a rest-cation.
But when people asked me what I did, I tell them I mostly walked. Taking a slightly different route each time, I slowly strolled up and down the blacktop roads near my brother's house, tapping my progress on the ground with a walking stick presented to me by my daughter and her boyfriend just before we left, usually with a couple of dogs somewhat following.
Traveling slowly, I am sure the sweat that I accumulated came more from heat and humidity than exertion. I only brought my iPad once, to take pictures, and I never noted how far I went or how long it took before I had returned. I just went.
lone honeysuckle
high in a hot tree holding
dry, heaven-toward vines
Most of my walks were in conjunction with mediation, usually of a verse or idea from Scripture.
Usually my mind wandered. I could not stop that, but I did notice it easier to push away thoughts of anger and resentment which often burden my brief excursions. I also noticed I was not as afraid of snakes and other critters as I typically am when traveling a greater distance than from my front door to the car door.
I did a good deal of reading on this vacation, and quite a bit more writing than usual. Walking has always come not only with more writing, but usually better writing. I thought of how obvious this is for me, and how often I have forgotten it. I wondered about how I might continue regular walking when my time at my brother's was over.
Though I cannot say I left anxiety behind, I can say I brought less home with me, and though walking has been painful for me lately, I finished the vacation with a stronger back, and I hope a stronger will and faith.
thin raindrops gliding
feathery sunlight landing
green hills and clear paths
People at my house are sleeping late still, just a few days before the school year begins. With so many mental chores to sort out, I decide to walk toward the old neighborhood, before the sun is preheated to the temperature it will be baking the earth later. 
Melodies played by Marion McPartland, whom I had been listening to as I worked, waft in my mind. Prayers I don't know if I am saying or thinking mix in. I admire the brightness of sunflowers, and ponder my fears.
