When I was asked the other day, if I’m still meditating, I had to admit that I haven’t sat on my cushion in months. That’s more of a winter thing and though on rainy days I might still sit, walking in the early morning before the day heats up and the humidity level gets overwhelming has taken its place.

It’s Sunday morning around seven. I’m out the door before there are many cars on the road. The neighborhood is still asleep except for one or two people walking their dogs. The bird song is the first thing that hits me. This spring we’ve had a Wood Thrush in the area, singing his heart out in search of a mate. I presume he’s found her and is off somewhere preparing a nest, since I haven’t heard him for about a week. I miss his fluid song, similar to the sound of a mountain brook. It consistently brings my stress level down and I imagine myself floating peacefully somewhere in the ether.

Even without bird feeders our yard is filled with a huge variety of birds, as are the tree-lined streets in this part of town. This morning there are Robins, Cardinals, Cat Birds, Blue Jays, Chickadees, Wrens, and a Woodpecker drumming in the distance. The only incongruity that interrupts the joyous symphony of winged creatures is a wailing siren going about the business of humanity.

The temperature is about 75 degrees. I’t muggy and the air is still. I take my sunglasses off and on as I move into shade and then into light so bright I can’t see without them. I begin counting my steps, loose track, and begin again.

When I’m meditating on my cushion, I focus on my breath … the in, the out, and the space in between. Out here that’s difficult. Having fallen last year because I wasn’t paying attention on one of my walks, I want to stay aware of where my feet are, how I lift them, and put them down. Counting helps to keep me somewhat focused until my mind again wanders.

Ten minutes in, my shirt is getting damp and my breathing is a bit more labored as I go up a hill. I’ve got a bit of a twinge in my lower back and my feet are hot, encased in athletic shoes. This is how it is walking in the summer. I allow myself to really feel it, then push away the thought of quitting and going back to my air-conditioned home. I refocus on my steps.

As I walk down fraternity row, there are actually roses blooming in one the frat house yards. When the University is in session, there are usually beer cans, liquor bottles, and discarded packaging from fast-food establishments littering every inch of ground. I like the summer look better.

As a runner brushes by me on the narrow sidewalk, I turn the corner onto a small, one-way lane where older homes stand under a magnificently dense canopy of trees. It’s always cooler here. On  this street are two gardens that I adore. Walking by slowly, they always make me smile. I want to stop and sit on the bench in the one on my left, surrounded by a graying picket fence. There are winding paths through thick beds of ferns and other shade loving plants. But I don’t even dare to stop and take a photo. I’m a private person and I assume everyone else is too.

The garden directly across the street is about the size of a postage stamp. The Ancient brick home was probably built around the turn of twentieth century, but its worn well and looks welcoming and cozy. Its short walkway to the front door, is covered with a multitude of potted plants. There is Coleus in dark maroon, with pink and lime green highlights, variegated hostas, ferns, and other plants with colorful leaves that I can’t identify. If I were to move to a smaller house without much of a yard, I’d choose this one or one like it, tucked away on a quiet street.

In my delight of seeing the gardens, I’ve again lost count of my steps. I almost tripped a few steps ago. My toes sometimes drag rather than lift off the ground. I begin again, trying to stay on count, allowing everything else fall away.

This is a quiet segment of time here. The UVA students are gone, elementary and high schools are still in session, and the tourists haven’t yet arrived. I love the bit of sleepiness the city exudes for the moment. But it won’t last long. Soon summer school will be in session and in early August students will begin returning to continue their year long studies.

Forty minutes later, on my way back down the hill toward home, I wave to a neighbor out weeding his garden. Though I’m tired, sweaty, and hot, my head is clear of the tension and worry I started the day with. I’m ready to begin the work of surviving the twists and turns of today. Will there be surprises? Boredom? New discoveries? Disappointments?

This is my morning ritual. On days when I don’t have time and need to rush from one thing to the next, I get lost in the chaos. Is this walking a meditation equal to sitting on my cushion? I think so. It’s a time for noticing, for asking questions, for being relaxed, and finding the light in my heart.

Are you a meditator? Do you have a morning ritual that you consider meditation even though you aren’t sitting on a cushion watching your thoughts pass by?