It wasn’t raining when some of us started walking at 7:30 in the morning and I was hopeful we might out walk the rain. But I had 19 km to walk and knew that the weather gods were not on my side (even though Rorie was wearing her magic raincoat). The sprinkling of rain began by the time we were on the second round and by the third round (for me), it was pouring. By this time, I was on my own, splashing through the cemetery, getting my distance in.
There is something very meditative about walking alone in the rain, and I found myself noticing the yellow daffodils here and there, the carpets of little blue flowers scattered amongst the grass, the robins looking for worms. I stopped to look at the statue of the young girl sitting on a bench, reading a book. And I saw the little grave stone with the words “Taken Home” on it, which reminded me of the phrase I had heard recently, I can’t remember where, that is a description of our lives unfolding in time and space; that together we are walking each other home. And I thought – that’s what we walking women are doing for each other – we are walking each other home. Through rain and shine, sleet and snow. And I am so grateful for it.