The Slow Steps of Wandering

At night, it feels like a film noir.
Atmospheric, a little dangerous.
The hotel sign is not quite clear,
a mall place in a back alley.
The few people you see are shadows,
heels clicking on the stones.
No one is in a hurry, least of all you.

You have spent the week slowing down.
Remembering the feeling,
the power of it. Of doing less.
Noticing more. Savoring. Understanding
that places are never just places
for tourists.

There is something more here.
Not unlike your life,
there is the weight of history,
of the risen and the lost.
There are lessons never learned in the rush,
only in the slow steps of wandering.

About this poem.

I am slowing down my life. Purposefully and also inevitably (I turn 71 in a few weeks). My recent trip to Venice reminded me of the value of slowing down. Meals can take hours. Wandering is part of life. I am finding that while I do less as I slow down, I do what I do better. It is more satisfying. And less worry.

Those Italians are on to something. Something we have lost.

The photograph is of our hotel while in Venice. I highly recommend it. But not if you are in a hurry.

Be well. Travel wisely,

Tom