Walking Man (men's yatra) 2009



Majestic trees arch to a sparkling canopy
A line of men silently wind through ancient forests
Stiff bodies bend and stretch in the first light of morning
Fire glow reflects on a circle of listening faces
The smells of cooking as weary legs haul in to camp
Memories surface and recede
Hard truths shared, tears allowed to fall
Rain rattles on plastic poncho mud underfoot
Sitting in silent meditation as the morning sun warms our bodies
Invisible Lyre Bird amuses with versatile calls
Deep green moss softens our perceptions
Heartfelt laughter as imagined loads get lighter
This foot now this foot
Dappled light
Edges blurring
Heart welling
Familiar joy









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Photos and poem: Ken Golding