In winter, a practice I use to bookend my days is mindful walking. I focus on the feeling of my feet striking and pushing off the pavement that lies between the train and my destination. Tasks and memories and judgments and desires surface and distract me. I notice the distractions, accept my distractibility, and return to focus on walking. I observe the mechanics of my footfall, starting with my heels and ending with my toes. Distractions continue and I notice how generous it feels to accept rather than judge them. I set interruptions on hold and return my focus to the walk, again and again. I notice that my feet keep moving and I arrive at my destination even though I don’t attend to my distractions, and even though my concentration is full of static. Just before I cross the threshold of my destination, I notice that I can fully accept my flawed focus. I feel grateful for arriving and end my little walk with a slow, deep breath. I start and end my day with firsthand proof that movement can be comprised of small steps and fragments of consciousness.