佚名/Anonymous
散步能唤醒我们的感官。散步时对这个世界的所见所闻所感，是乘车时所不曾有的。不管你搭乘什么交通工具，运动的是车，而不是我们自身。我们受车内特定环境所限，一旦适应了这种环境——主要取决于是否舒适——就切断了对外界的观察，或睡觉，或翻开杂志昏昏沉沉地打盹。
当我们散步时，周围的环境每一时刻都发生着变化，我们的感官便始终保持着敏锐。在城市街区的每一个拐角和乡村道路的每一个转弯，总有某种新鲜事物吸引我们的视觉、听觉与嗅觉。即使我们每天走的是同一条人行路，也没有任何两天是相同的，每一周、每一季都会有所变化。
不仅是在乡村，每个地方都是如此。在纽约，有一群做行政工作的人，每天上班都是从家步行到办公室。他们要穿过这个城市最古老的街区之一，走过寂静的街道——街面上铺满了古褐色的鹅卵石，然后走上布鲁克林大桥——雄伟壮观的桥拱支撑着星罗密布的网状悬索，下了桥之后走进金融区——在鳞次栉比的摩天大楼中间，像是走进大山谷。
他们在每天经过的路上看到、听到、闻到了纽约在明朗晴空或阴云密布的天空下的四季更迭。只有在天气极度恶劣、寒冷和狂风暴雨之时，他们才会畏惧前行。他们穿着应季的衣服，欢快地行走在春雨中、绵绵的秋雨中、夏日清晨的阳光下或冬日细软的雪花中。河水流经他们脚下，或缓缓流淌，或充满朝气；突突开过的拖船拖拉着各种货物，在浓雾迷茫的清晨，雾号有时大声鸣响，有时呜咽低吟；久负盛名的曼哈顿岛低垂的轮廓在地平线上方的天空升起；闪烁在阳光下，飘浮在雾霭里，那背景天幕变化万端，从不重复。
Walking gives us back our senses.We see，hear，smell the world as we never can when we ride.No matter what vehicle，it is the vehicle that is moving，not ourselves.We are trapped inside its fixed environment，and once we have taken in its sensory aspects mainly in terms of comfort or discomfort we turn off our perceptions and either go to sleep or open a magazine and begin dozing in and out.
But when we walk，the environment changes every moment and our senses are continuously being alerted.Around each comer of a city block，around each bend in a country road，there is something new to greet the eyes，the ears，the nose.Even the same walk，the one we may take every day，is never the same from one day to another，from one week and season to another.
This is true not only in the country，but everywhere else.In New York City，a group of executives who meet every weekday morning walk from their homes to their offices.Their way takes them through quiet streets of old brownstones，one of the oldest neighborhoods in the city，then up and over the Brooklyn Bridge with its cathedral arches supporting the web-like drapery of cables，then down into the tight skyscraper canyons of the financial district.
On their daily route they see，hear，smell the city in all its seasonal changes，under bright and cloudy skies.Only the most inclement weather stops them suitably dressed，they can walk with pleasure in spring rains，autumn drizzles，the sunlight of a summer morning or a soft winter snowfall.The river waters roll bybelow their feet，sullen or sparkling.Tugboats chug past，shoving and hauling their variously laden barges；on a shrouded morning，foghorns hoot and moan.The famous skyline of lower Manhattan rises before them，glittering in sun，afloat in mist，against a backdrop of sky never twice the same.
