The sun continued to shine this morning though the rain that was predicted for the afternoon did eventually arrive. I have several favorite routes, and I decided to combine several today to bring me to 12 miles: the loop where I have watched the covey of northern bobwhite quail chicks grow, the path that takes me by Hazel’s Creek with its red-winged blackbirds lighting on the spread of cattails and its own slow and steady march to becoming dry land, the steep hill of Lincoln Park with the pond perched at the top like those red-winged blackbirds on grasses, and the hundreds of sunflowers that have drawn the sun into their gardens. Weaving through these roads that stitch my run together, the grasses, flowers, and insects of summer that have captured my imagination were very much on my mind, and throughout my run, I could see they were not letting go without one last gasp of breath. Straggly lavender reached out in a last ditch effort, and a single pink lupine in a nearby garden rebelliously bloomed, weeks after its turn. My eyes stung from the tears, my senses quickening as the great wheel of seasons cycled before me in the deepening days. Autumn, escorting the companions of letting-go and gathering-in.
So also on my mind were the things I hope to see this fall, like the cocoons of moths. Relying on the cues of shorter hours of daylight and cooler temperatures that alert the coming of winter, caterpillars, after fattening on summer leaves, spin cocoons in which they will become moths during the winter months and in a spring eclosion ceremony, emerge winged. I am looking forward to discovering where birds have hidden their treasure nests as leaves fall away from the trees that guard them. (Will my guesses in summer be correct?) The honesty plant’s sprays of flowers have given way to the purple watercolor outlines of its flat papery seedpods, mimicking those nests. Gardens and trees haven’t completed their harvests yet while hearty pumpkins begin to grow and crisp apples continue to ripen. And even though the sun continues to shine, its slant of light through trees, groves and solitary, has changed from summer’s cant in tint and in shadow.
~~~
I saw a spotted pine sawyer on a cement sidewalk and unsure if it was alive, I grabbed an amber pine needle to gently poke at it. Twice as long as its body, its black antennas moved, reminding me of my own thick eyebrows lifted in a quizzical expression.
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Winding back and forth through streets, I passed a split-level house with its driveway covered by an ivy-dense trellis. Grapevines lingering on metal frames that, from a distance, looked like gnarled fingers reaching up in a grasp, but up close, the vines became smooth braided cords like a tree’s radiating roots just beneath the surface of the ground. As the wind blew through, the berries, held by the thick web of ropes, trembled like apples in boiling water. As I looked up, I felt drawn into the orbit of those indigo sacs, the almost-black of the deep-blue night sky, their purple embodying balance, poising the energy of red with the peace of blue, though the slant ran toward blue so I felt no discord. I wanted to touch the smooth grapes while I considered how these beautiful, perfectly shaped grapes will become wine after being crushed, skins and all, for an intense flavor in the long run. Another magnificent Autumn harvest fruitflesh.
~~~
And the fruitflesh of my own body. The elongated firm roundness of secret muscles under my skin that moves my legs, step by step through my run. After 12 miles today, I will probably be sore tomorrow, as the muscles continue to repair themselves from the tearing that needs to happen for strength to grow. I will probably feel each and every one of the 12 in my five tomorrow.
(But it will be a good kind of sore, and one I will relish.)
Grapes and Pine Tree, 9/18/2009
GL, 9/19/2009. Prevail.
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