As I roved out.

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What greater joy awaits a person than to venture forth into the world armed only with a slender cane and an inquisitive mind and then to walk. Kierkegaard was of that mind and habit, a practitioner and proponent of walking, and on his walks he walked himself into thinking high thoughts and mighty. He also smoked cigars. And it was Kierkegaard who came to mind this afternoon when, after a small luncheon, I stepped out with my walking stick (anti dog poking device) and cogitated sedulously as I strode the length of the river. I noted flowers and birds, giving special attention to the lone heron who looked somewhat depressed as he stood perfectly still on a rock protruding from the slack water, awaiting his prey. And like friend Søren, I too was able to appreciate the natural world, to take delight in it, but then to look beyond it and intuit the divine: nature is not God but it can say something about God, can reveal something about him. And then, by peculiar happenstance, I came across my wife and daughter sitting on the wall of a little bridge, wetted in the light drizzle. We returned home together.