Evening Walk

It was always the same place, on the evening walk, when the same thoughts came back to him. The same reflections, the same areas of life to be evaluated, or topics to ponder about. Sometimes it could be the bigger issues in life, or sometimes the smaller everyday questions of spending your time on the right things, for yourself and for others, and for the future. Like little stations along the path, to build and expand on something he had thought the day before, and in a long string of days and walks, creating a longer and coherent reflection and learning about something in life, that might be useful one day. And then, there was always the sound and seeing the river. It softened the brain, and released the patterns of thinking, making them more fluid.
This afternoon was a more quiet one. A feeling of being content, and of some new wheels being set into motion. There seemed to be a balance over time, over the months or over the years, between the busy life and the slow life. He should have known by now that it always would sort itself out, but it was probably a part of the process. That new things rarely emerged without a tiny sense of desperation or despair. Maybe it was a necessary trigger, from mother nature. But the recognition was usually the same. He’d been here hundreds of times before. And it always tipped over, into something new. Over and over. A million times.