by Mike Bayles

Created on: November 06, 2009   Last Updated: November 08, 2009

A Moment's Heaven

One recent afternoon I got off work early, and decided to go for a walk on a pathway along the Rock River, in Milan, Illinois. A spell of good weather gave another chance to enjoy warm weather before the descent of winter.

After taking up walking, I reclaimed a part of me lost after I had drifted away from my almost-daily regiment of running. A part of me had died, and I didn't realize until I started walking. This afternoon gave me a great time to celebrate the part of my life I had regained.

I parked at the edge of downtown Milan and proceeded toward the path and the Rock River, near its end, before flowing into The Mississippi. Shortly after I began my walk, the Rock veered away from me. From my vantage on the elevated pathway, I observed the backwaters. The landscape became a pockmarked labyrinth of ponds, and a line of trees to my right. Just beyond the line of trees, the river flowed. I was enthralled.

To my left, were remnants of the Hennepin Canal, lingering long after its glory days, when it bore the weight of small barges, many years ago. I tried to imagine the people of another era, and their labors.

The pathway wound its westward way, and every turn offered another surprise. Although my walks were short, usually a mile or two, I felt as if I could walk forever.

There was so much to see. I knew that there would be so much to tell friends at work the next day, eager to help them to envision the wonder.

My job has always presented its own challenges, to rush through calls and complaints of customers, and give a sense of resolution, others had not given. When sitting in a gray cubicle, I was often unsure if my efforts had been appreciated, or even understood by supervisors and management, while I tried to produce the numbers they wanted. During days of good weather I often was eager to get out early and experience a greater life and its offerings.

Now a kind of beauty surrounded me that many others rarely to the time to witness. I continued walking, while remembering other things I wanted to do in the day. They lingered in my mind, as I sought a sense of oneness with my surroundings, and another way to enrich my life. A series of spillways of the storm water system went under the path. I observed the intricacies, and wondered how all of it was connected.

After twenty minutes, or longer, I paused, but the path continued. I knew that there was much left to see, before the path ended at The Mississippi. I thought of the time I had seen it when running with a friend, many years earlier. Now I found myself living on two levels, of my time of the presence, and of a past time. I thought about friends who had moved, who would like to hear about this experience. I was sure I was living other levels of life that I couldn't understand. Reluctantly I turned around and made my way back to my car, taking my time, hoping the walk would never end. I met someone else just starting his walk, and we shared memories of the land. I was a visitor, and he was a life-long resident. A part of me remembered that times of isolation and reflection called for the meeting with friend, so much to be said about a glorious day, and of the gifts given me.

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