My husband Jim believed in the healing power of motion.
He wanted us to get outside and move–to walk, to hike, to bike, to run with the beagles, to climb mountains in the summer and sheer ice walls in subzero temperatures.
That his exuberant outdoor presence could be forever stilled remains beyond my belief, though we watched as his heart stopped beating.
We keep moving. One daughter takes to the stage and spins, ribbons of color trailing where she has lightly touched down. Another daughter moves from continent to continent, contemplating the Ganges and biking among golden temples in Myanmar. Our sons plow ahead in their studies and fields.
One bonus of my own relatively plodding forward movement is that I find even when I’m alone, I’m not really alone. A bird’s shadow will waver over my path, or a deer will dart into thicker brush. A wild turkey will flicker through the woods by my side. Hearts still beating. Breathing in, breathing out.