Word: walking
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Writer Thomas McGuane once called the alliance between horse and human "a burst of poetry." But the only thing bursting was two blisters on the inside of my left knee when our wrangler asked my partner and me to each hold an end of a belt and walk our horses side by side through a maze in the shimmering aspens high in the Rockies above Steamboat Springs, Colo. Right off, I knew this was a make-or-break moment in what experts refer to as an "experiential" course in corporate training--this one a dusty, five-day regimen crafted...
...sweatshirt. People who had read about John taking off his sweatshirt spent more time over this new bit of information. Mentally, they had left the sweatshirt behind. In other words, when we hear a story, we create in our minds a simulation of what's happening. Do you walk down the street to Subway just because Jared did? No. But hearing his story does rehearse you to follow in his footsteps...
...change your mood,” Sparks said. Around the Square and on campus, students and florists said the project’s conclusions were not very surprising. Elmer Helgeson, an employee at Brattle Square Florist, corroborated the study’s findings. “Sometimes, people just walk into the shop during the dead of winter to get a mental lift,” he said. “Flowers mellow people out. They lift their spirits.” Around the Yard, flowers are a budding commodity as well. Erica B. Richey ’10 lamented...
...place of local luminaries still makes it a great, if slightly tame, Halloween destination. Located just two miles west of Harvard Square, Mt. Auburn Cemetery claims on its website that it is “one of the most beautiful and historic landscapes in America.” A walk along silent Indian Ridge Path, surrounded by the dappled reds and yellows of its autumn trees and the stately mausoleums of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow and Henry Cabot Lodge, confirms their lofty statement. Sitting on 175 acres of rolling hills, the cemetery was founded in 1831 by wealthy Bostonians who sought...
...Carlos and wait. And he says Hi Belinda. Of course, he knows my name, because I am the very special 300 millionth American. Or because it's on the form in front of him, just above my picture. Then I shake the hand of a judge. I walk back to my seat. I wait for the fanfare. The marshall eventually tells me I need to leave. But he says it with a wink. Outside the courtroom there's a crowd of people with pens and paper, who I think must be press wanting an interview. Actually they want...