the creek don’t rise

Ambling is a lovely word, and it best describes the walks that are taking me out and about and throughout the village/small city of San Luis Obispo. Most often with no particular destination, sometimes it’s the bridge above the railroad tracks, sometimes one or another of the many special places from which to view the SLO Creek as it babbles through vegetation and under roads and their bridges cutting a northeast to southwest diagonal right through the city. Mostly, though, there’s no map in my mind.

Long, long, long ago songs from way back when I was a kid in another sweet place – Wareham, Massachusetts – are ambling companions: “Old Man River” (‘He just keeps rolling along’); “Lucky Old Sun” (‘Nothing to do but roll around heaven all day.’).

I am lonesome. I am seeking work. I will find a healthier place in which to lay my head at night. I do go to those meetings. I have a devoted Zen practice. Perhaps all these facts and activities contribute and lean into this old man ambling me.

Fortunately it’s spring. The sun is warm. And when I find myself just ambling along, things feel pretty sweet.