Ever since I lost my brother in a terrible plane crash and my mother two full moons later, I've taken to late-night walking meditations. In Italian, these walks are known as
Caminata Nocturna, or "Night Hikes" and they are mystical and beautiful experiences. I've been night-hiking now since 2004. I wait until its very dark and cool. My husband insists I take a flashlight, but I often park it behind an azalea bush and go empty handed. I head down Bryan Avenue, cross Phelps, take a sharp left on Shepherd Avenue. The third streetlight on the right begins flashing as I walk by. Always. I know its my brother signaling hello. Sometimes I stroll all the way down Bonita to Palmer Avenue and loop back on Phelps. I've made friends with an owl family in a live oak over near the lake. In the Spring, the jasmine perfumes the neighborhood. I walk and walk. I walk off my endless grief. As I approach our home, I see the welcoming lights of our clerstory windows, a row of gold squares. After a full year of these night hikes, life began to flow through my body again. I knew I would be all right. But I'll never stop walking at night and I'll never stop listening to the moon.
