10 miles.
Today is tough. I never quite find the stride I usually slip into as I begin my run. My legs feel heavy and stiff like I am carrying cold grey stones, and rain steadily falls and wind blows while a white mist descends in grey. Perhaps I shouldn’t attempt 10 today after yesterday’s fast seven, but I want to try. I plan to focus on only the mile I find myself in.
~
I like how droplets of water hang from the buds of tree branches.
I like how firm chubby squirrels continue to scratch their way across grey cracked streets, up trunks of trees whose roots lift sidewalks, their sound reminding me of summertime sprinklers.
My muscles are chilled, but on the three steep hills I run, I look only at my next step, and I like how rain water and snow melt pass me, flowing down in the opposite direction. Rain and the mist from my breath obscure the lenses of my glasses, but I trust my feet.
Several times, I am splashed by cars passing by.
White lights now hover like my Lincoln Park hummingbird where the grapes of indigo and the deep-blue night sky lingered in summer.
Starlings shift positions on high wires, edging closer to one another and flitting to lower lines like children scampering down a slatted fence.
This isn’t my smoothest run, but I finish it. I feel strong. And drenched. Even the small journal I carry is wet, the edges of its pages warping, curved like the etched waves on my favorite RIVER silver pendant.
~
Unable to wrap it
and dropping the moon—
the winter rain. (Tokoku haiku)
~
Today, I shall creatively color in white and grey rain.
GL, 12/19/2009. Prevail.
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