The early evening after my morning walk 16, I tried the St. Joseph’s labyrinth again. In the light, I saw how the labyrinth was surrounded by blue fir trees, a mountain in the distance (do we have mountains in this part of the state? I guess it was just a very lovely hill) and hydrangeas. The tomb structure I had seen in the dark was a grotto which still frightened me I half wanted to go down the path into the darkness, but I envisioned bats and snakes, so I did not dare. The length of this labyrinth and the long stretches in one direction and then the other create a different, energizing experience, perhaps because the pattern is new to my brain. I spontaneously took a second walk on it–I was tempted to run, but it didn’t seem right, like running in church.
The next morning, I knew I would take my walk, on my way to visit my brother, sister-in-law and nephew at the Jersey Shore. It took me awhile to get out the door.
walk 17: August 2. As I pulled up to the garden, I marveled at how familiar it has become, yet how much I discover each time I go, another little bunch of flowers or new yellow leaves on the walk. It had rained heavily earlier but somehow the labyrinth was free of puddles and just pleasantly springy under my crocs. As I began to walk, I looked over and saw the verbena was not where I had placed it. I began craning my neck around to know if it was somewhere in the garden. I stopped and told myself to be present to the walk. Thereafter at each bend I stopped and said “be present to the walk” as I worked my way into the labyrinth, and the turns became more plentiful, it was a chant. While in the center, I saw a potted plant that could have been the verbena, at the foot of the Celtic Cross, the largest and most significant stone piece in the garden of small angels and cement frogs, a counterpart to the little girl statue who I have come to see as representing the little girl for whom the garden is dedicated I smiled to think that my little offering would receive such an exalted location. On the way out, I continued to stop and remind myself to be present. A visit to the cross confirmed it–the verbena was at its foot.