I’m debating between writing this and going to bed. In fact, I’m not really sure what the point of this post is. Maybe just to start. Maybe just to say… it feels good to go outside and get some air. It feels good to move my body and squint at the sun against the white snow. It feels refreshing to see the remnants of Christmas lights and wreathes on the houses up the street, to step in puddles of melted snow, to sing a song that I make up as I go which eventually lulls my baby to sleep. It feels invigorating to daydream, to choose whether I’ll walk up to the plaza to buy that hand cream I need or make my way over to the trail for some quietude, to imagine myself in some of my favourites houses, the ones I always admire. Just for a moment, there’s a semblance of pause, a rest. A much needed breath… that’s what it is about walks.