Long Beach, CA
My second four-hour
experience, this time in an urban setting... I felt inner resistance to slowing
the momentum of my day. I was tempted to cut the time short.
I could say I had stayed outside the whole time and not actually do it. But at what
cost?
The sky was washed clean. It was a
hair-blowing-around-the-face day. I walked the measured slabs of concrete toward Colorado Lagoon. I picked a stem of rosemary and pressed it between my fingers.
The
wing-like leaf-sprouts of a eucalyptus felt like small feathers, but the bark
was crumbling and gritty.
At the lagoon it was low tide. The water’s
edge was a carpet of green sea-moss lying close to the sand. Moist, sun-warmed felt,
it was springy and alive under my palms—a fabric of thin, curving strands
matted close together.
I held my hand up to the folded rays of a fan-shaped
palm leaf. I could feel it catch the wind, and push—toward me and away—on its thick stem.
Over at the grove of trees on 7th
Street it was difficult to be aware. In the rush of traffic I lost any sense of
breeze or sunlight touching my skin. I put both hands on the trunk of a tree close
to the road; it felt as if it was quivering.
As I left the street, my pace slowed and my
focus returned.
I realized I was missing a lot by wearing shoes, so I took them
off. More contact—it changed the whole experience. I felt the ground through my feet. The grass was still wet from the night’s rain. With any careless step across pavement a jolt traveled from my heal up to my skull, causing my upper
and lower teeth to bump together.
I was vaguely aware of clock time, but could
tell by the temperature and the angle of the light that it was a late afternoon.
The sun dipped behind a cloud, and it got noticeably cooler. As the sky was darkening
I walked back along the green belt. Gravel and sharp stones made my progress
slow. I was attempting to feel through my soles, but not to bear too much
weight.
