Where progress goes to die

Riding my mountain bike has been a medium for clearing my mind over the past couple of years. I was on mile 11 of my ride today somewhere in the confines of Baltimore’s Druid Hill Park, when I encountered St. Paul’s cemetery. One of the most interesting elements about the city for me is how everything is built around the cemeteries.

I thought of a quote that a friend of mine had referenced in some of the work that he does with young people in the city, and felt compelled to get off the bike to chew it over.

“He who rejects change is the architect of decay. The only human institution which rejects progress is the cemetery.” -Harold Wilson



It is a sobering thought, considering all of the finger pointing, blame gaming, righteous indignation that transpires in our political discourse, social interactions and the like.

The solution?

That’s the million dollar question.

The only thing I came up with was to keeping pedaling, I got back on the bike and rode off.

Visiting Mother and letting her talk

When Mother Nature opens her door she doesn’t care if you wipe your feet or not, she just wants you to feel better than you did when you came in.


Everything is in order, her interior decorating skills are without equal.




If she tells you to pull up a seat, you pull up a seat. Respect your elders.




The stories have no words but they are the most riveting that I’ve ever heard. She is so engaging,  that I lose track of time.




She sends me off… Not before telling me to ignore the snake on the ground and to come back soon.

Oh Mother.

Calling a time out

I never really started the process of finding myself, until I truly listened.

I walk, unburdened and with a presence of mind that is indescribable, as words fail to encompass the peace that envelops me.


Patapsco Valley State Park

Any excursion where I am able to absorb rhe majesty of a waterfall, is a segue into another realm of solace that I didn’t know existed.

Each one is different, every experience has a different frequency.

These waters have a baptismal power that is invigorating.

I suffer from migraines, but they don’t exist here.


At the base of the Falls


Overlook at paradis3

My visit to Hawaii consisted of me smiling for an entire week. I was empowered for the entire visit, being surrounded by water… That is unadulterated power and I was infected.


I was lost, but I didn't care.

Often, I journey alone because of this innate need to detox and be selfish. When I am alone in the confines of solitude, I operate on a higher plane.

Unlocking freedom and elements of my sanity on a incremental basis.

Closing my eyes, breathing deeply I often wonder…


Herring Run flowing into the Back River

Is this a drug?
Am an addict?

But the presence of God says otherwise and I immediately know it to be true.

Killing time with Mother

It was a stupid question, but it came quite naturally, stopping myself in mid sentence.

What would I do to kill two and a half hours? Continuing this ongoing affair with Mother Nature seemed to be a given.

Once I got my bearings, I made a beeline straight to the nearest State Park.

I’ve found that no matter how many times that I think that I’ve traversed every area of a park that I’ve patronized over the years, I find myself happily proven wrong.


I found myself in the embrace of the Patapsco Valley today.

Hearing the river rushing in the valley below, I fought the urge to run towards it.


I walked with a deliberate saunter, letting the world behind me slowly melt away.


It was a steep incline in some places, I stumbled, but I continued on.




As I made my way down to the river. It was as if I was beckoned to sit at the rivers edge.

As if Mother Nature crafted a seat, just with me in mind. I sat on a rock, in the middle of the river, while sun infused me with a warmth that seemed to download a sense of fortitude that I didn’t know that I needed.

I closed my eyes while my mind took baby steps towards making sense of it all.


Before I knew it, the two and a half hours that I needed to kill were breathing their last gasps.

As I make my way back up the valley.

I grouse…


Time is never on my side.

Finding what was buried within.

As I back up my old photo’s to the Cloud.

I was drawn to this set of photographs, it was significant because it was during this walk that I wrote my first piece of poetry.

It was a organic act that unfolded without much fanfare.

As I walked through this area of Gunpowder Falls this past December.

I was accompanied by nothing other than the crunching of the snow beneath my feet and feeling as if I was impervious to the elements that seemed to say…

“You will freeze, you will regret not having those gloves that you forgot at home.”

But, I was looking for something that I eventually found.

Peace of mind, solace.

So, I walked.

Discovering a layer that I didn’t know I possessed.

Not to say that my poetry is any good, but it is the act of creating it, that makes me feel empowered and that is more important that any accolade I could ever receive.

Gunpowder Falls



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The act of decompressing


Remembering to inhale and exhale in concert with act of…



Counting blessings, hedging bets.


Calculated steps make way for divine order.


For without it, chaos would opt to defeat, progress…

Running roughshod, circumventing and perforating the blueprints of foundations.


Sensing the poison that masquerades as hesitation.

Only to find.

That the art of decompressing…


Is the concession that empowers
protection to move in our direction.

Savoring the flashback


Years ago, if someone told me that I’d be an addict for wandering throughout the confines of nature, I would have been inclined to laugh heartily in their face.


If I was told that I would find piece of mind and a weapon to defeat the anger and malaise that would sometimes envelope me in their cold embrace, their dialogue would’ve been met with a blank stare.


I walk, sometimes not knowing where I’m going, but knowing that I will reach my end goal of being inspired and empowered.


Sometimes when I can’t walk into Mother Nature’s embrace, just indulging one of my senses is just enough.


Sight has the ability to bring the other senses to a happy medium.

So I flip through my directory of travels.




A simple exhale is sometimes, more than enough