Thoreau and Gibran: Walking Home to Nature
Yesterday I got kicked out of the B68 bus. I had arrived early at my bus stop. I wanted to be at the Brooklyn College campus a bit early, before I started teaching, to gather my thoughts in the silence of my office for a few minutes.
The bus, however, was running way behind schedule and it took twenty minutes to come. I did not mind, since it was a glorious autumn morning, so crisp and lovely to be outdoors. But when the bus I arrived and I got in, the fare-payment machine told me that my monthly public transport card had expired the day before. The bus driver thought I was trying to cheat the mighty Metropolitan Transportation Authority of the $2.75 fare, and since I had no coins (you can't pay with bills) he kicked me out of his bus with a sour look. Now I was running late to school.
The beautiful morning did not allow that incident to put me in ill humor. I seized the chance to walk across Prospect Park while observing the shimmering lake waters under the bright blue skies. I listened to this Johnny Cash interpretation of "You are My Sunshine", focusing on these verses:
You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.
You make me happy when skies are gray.
You'll never know, dear, how much I love you.
That is, I seized upon the joy in a sad song. I also took a few seconds to regard the bright red and gold leaves on a magnificent oak tree.
And in the end, I took the Q train at Parkside Avenue, got off and walked along avenue H, and arrived on campus just in time for class.
Today, as I prepared to write my weekly post, yesterday's experience came to mind. The loveliness on autumn this year has often led me outdoors. In fact, this afternoon the light is golden again and the air is cold. I want to go outside.
This, according to Thoreau in his essay "Walking," would not be not leaving home but going home to walk in Nature.
Khalil Gibran expresses a similar view in the closing verses on "Houses" in The Prophet:
"And though of magnificence and splendour, your house shall not hold your secret nor shelter your longing.
For that which is boundless in you abides in the mansion of the sky, whose doors is the morning mist, and whose windows are the songs and the silences of the nights."
Let me take a break from reading and writing, and go home for a walk out of doors.
The bus, however, was running way behind schedule and it took twenty minutes to come. I did not mind, since it was a glorious autumn morning, so crisp and lovely to be outdoors. But when the bus I arrived and I got in, the fare-payment machine told me that my monthly public transport card had expired the day before. The bus driver thought I was trying to cheat the mighty Metropolitan Transportation Authority of the $2.75 fare, and since I had no coins (you can't pay with bills) he kicked me out of his bus with a sour look. Now I was running late to school.
The beautiful morning did not allow that incident to put me in ill humor. I seized the chance to walk across Prospect Park while observing the shimmering lake waters under the bright blue skies. I listened to this Johnny Cash interpretation of "You are My Sunshine", focusing on these verses:
You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.
You make me happy when skies are gray.
You'll never know, dear, how much I love you.
That is, I seized upon the joy in a sad song. I also took a few seconds to regard the bright red and gold leaves on a magnificent oak tree.
And in the end, I took the Q train at Parkside Avenue, got off and walked along avenue H, and arrived on campus just in time for class.
Today, as I prepared to write my weekly post, yesterday's experience came to mind. The loveliness on autumn this year has often led me outdoors. In fact, this afternoon the light is golden again and the air is cold. I want to go outside.
This, according to Thoreau in his essay "Walking," would not be not leaving home but going home to walk in Nature.
Khalil Gibran expresses a similar view in the closing verses on "Houses" in The Prophet:
"And though of magnificence and splendour, your house shall not hold your secret nor shelter your longing.
For that which is boundless in you abides in the mansion of the sky, whose doors is the morning mist, and whose windows are the songs and the silences of the nights."
Let me take a break from reading and writing, and go home for a walk out of doors.
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| Autumn's green, red, and gold at Prospect Park |
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