A walk is like a piece of music. Going for a walk can be variously like playing, composing, improvising (although what's the difference really between these two, apart from time?), sight-reading, reciting or listening to music. References to walking can be found throughout music, for example the titular term andante meaning 'walking pace', walking bass lines, stepwise motion, dance steps, marches, stride piano- the list goes on. A walk, like a piece of music, is affected by rhythm and tempo; it can have climaxes (reaching a view point or summit or headland) as well as more intimate moments (passing through a holloway or tunnel); as touched on above, it can follow established norms or be intuitive in the sense of being full of experimentation and following your nose.
Of course, music could accompany a walk, in the form of whistling, humming or singing as you go, or perhaps a favourite playlist playing through headphones; music could fade in and out of earshot as you pass by, given soft edges by your momentum, like the hymn 'Dear Lord and Father of Mankind' in the beach walk scene in the film 'Atonement'. The weather could give the same circular or linear route a different feel if walked more than once, like a reharmonisation or orchestration of a familiar tune. The act of walking may be like the first 5 verbs in the second sentence of this blog in the sense of the physical decisions and challenges, while it can be like listening in the sense of discovering things as you go, being moved by what you see and hear.
Speaking of which, if you choose not to use headphones while on a walk, you may find that your changing environment has textures, melodies and ryhthms of its own; bird or other animal vocalisations/movement; wind and water, such as a river or the sea or rain; human sounds like cars, industry or the doppler of passing sirens; the sound of your footsteps, heartbeat and breathing, and all possible combinations thereof.
I got thinking about these things after a weekend away in Cardiff, the city of my alma mater and my cartref- home- for half a decade. While there, I walked a lot, following meticulously composed routes from Peter Finch's book 'Walking Cardiff' including across Parc Tredelerch Lake and along the Severn estuary coast line to Penarth, filling time around my old haunt of Bute Park while waiting to meet a former tutor and watch a concert, and around the previously unknown (on my part) Howardian Local Nature reserve that surrounded the positively Ballardian budget hotel I was staying in on the edge of an industrial estate. I have previously written (see other blogs) about how the term Thin Places could be applied to music, and I felt that I had entered such places at a few points on my weekend walks- the mix of nostalgia, natural beauty, separation from wider society that the routes, their landmarks and the act of walking them offered all contributed to this sense. Incidentally, last year I did a charity walk with Will Millard, who I mention in that other blog.
I have recently also been involved in helping composer Graham Fitkin trial an app he is developing, that assigns music to different zones of cities, that changes and overlaps as you walk around, encouraging you to explore based on the sounds you here and their relationships with each other and where you are.
So get out there and have a walk; like music, its various elements can have a wide variety of impacts on you, emotionally, physically, creatively. Go off the beaten track, take the path less travelled, seek the beauty of imperfections, leave your footprints and enjoy.