Friday, January 29, 2010

January 23, 2010, journal entry, 63 Steps

15 miles.

I have an idea of how long I want to run today. Sometimes I plan for ten but run 13 miles, and other times, I know I will go 13 and yet finish only eight. I believe in the length of my leg muscles as much I believe the deep-breaths running the expanse of my lungs remember what it feels like to go the distance. The feeling of endurance.

I choose to go right and left, to head straight. I visit ancient shaped rocks and my grove of stately oak trees. Their dropped leaves are not only losses, I remind myself as I see branch buds ready to uncoil like ribbon in their quiet vibrancy that lives through Winter. They simply know how to bide their time. That they must bide their time. Endure. Even through warmth’s temporary thaws.


Hosts of sparrows light from winter bushes and coagulate again within the safety of their green Winter-white playground-like structures.


The added miles become a deliberate and delicately crafted path much like a delicious red wine’s blend of Merlot, Cabernet Franc, and Cabernet Sauvignon fine grapes rather than a collection of potluck leftovers.


A trusted one helps me find my way through roads to a stair-stepped grey hill off a well-travelled road. I have sped past its entrance many times, but today, I turn and face it. A series of grey stair steps, 63 of them, straight up where yellow and green moss curl up in the couch of the grey cement sides, and light leans over its edge like a child’s face peering out a window.


I head out the door later in the morning than usual. No rain today. No dark, no mist and sharp-stinging crystals of snow today. I don’t need to pause to scrape my glasses to see my next step and the distance ahead of me. It’s the first time in quite some time on a long run that I don’t squint at some point to find my way.

This doesn’t mean I prefer the later hour over early the morning moment for my run when I consort with the ebbing and flowing, waxing and waning Moon measuring finger-length above my mittened hand I hold out before my eyes. I am drawn to Dawn’s crepuscular light and its confident stillness, where Dark and Dawn blend and merge in the dusk I love.


Rarely, rarely, do I regret an early morning run although often when I awaken, my closed eyes wish they were fugitive birds hiding in thick dark branches.


I loved my New Year’s Day run at 5:30 in the morning when stillness became my movement. Everyone was fast asleep, and it was hours before their awakening, yet I ran down the dark middle of a usually busy road, bright yellow lines sporadic like the wax of dripping candles, thick daubs of color.


Blue darns holes in clouds of sky.


It has been warmer the past few weeks as Light’s spool unrolls like an unclenching fist, yet darkness IS essential. Buds’ invitation for leaves to unfurl and certain varieties of moths in cocoons rely on the timing of dark and light for their own Spring eclosion ceremonies.


So today, I honor Season’s Spinning Wheel, and, while listening to the Spring birds’ chanting of seep seep suuu, seep seep suuu, seep seep suuu, I bow to Winter.


63 Steps through BlackBerry Viewfinder


The winter moon:
A temple without a gate,~
How high the sky!
Buson haiku

GL, 1/23/2010. Prevail.

Wednesday, January 27, 2010

Kaleidoscope on Black Light Bulb through BlackBerry Viewfinder

Kaleidoscope on Black Light Bulb through BlackBerry Viewfinder, 1/24/2010

GL, 1/27/2010. Prevail.

Saturday, January 23, 2010

Silver Kaleidoscope Pendant on Sunlight through BlackBerry Viewfinder

Silver Kaleidoscope Pendant on Sunlight through BlackBerry Viewfinder, 1/21/2010

GL, 1/23/2010. Prevail.

Thursday, January 21, 2010

January 16, 2010, journal entry, Things that Make Me Feel Ridiculously Happy

13 miles.

I simply cannot run another mile on my broken-down Brooks running shoes.

I plan for about ten miles today as this is a rest week, and my legs ache in the constant low-grade soreness that tells me it is time to replace my shoes. I wonder if I will be able to eek out even eight today. I try.

I’m not sure which way I want to go. I think I’m gonna go north, but head south instead. When I arrive at an intersection, I decide to press on. Go straight. Straight, again. Turn left. Turn right. Turn right and left yet again, and I cobble the miles together.

I feel ridiculously happy as I add on the miles, even on running shoes broken down hard.

Things that Make Me Feel Ridiculously Happy

Adding one more mile on a long run. Simply because I can.

In that mile, thinking about the new running shoes I shall buy later in the afternoon.

The lilting incantation like blinking Christmas lights of unseen birds, their fluff-and-quiver of settling wings as they hide among the flexing muscles of tree branches.

Purple and cheddar-colored cauliflower, deep purple potatoes, fancy mushrooms, and golden yellow tomatoes from my favorite market Huckleberry’s.

The colorful vegetable stir fry I cook them in.

The peregrinations of shadows undulating under a waning and waxing moon.

The dress I am now wearing that makes me feel like I am a sunflower.

The fact that the chemical formulas for chlorophyll and hemoglobin are identical in amounts of carbon, hydrogen, nitrogen, and oxygen, with their only difference smack dab in the middle of their chemical structures: chlorophyll has magnesium while hemoglobin has iron.

The color wheel.

Buying my 7th grader To Kill a Mockingbird. His acing the unit test.

Trees and my tree pendants. “Today I have grown taller from [running] with the trees.” (Karle Wilson)

Edible flowers.

My kaleidoscopes…through my BlackBerry viewfinder on various lights.

The weft of the pumpkin-spice pine-needle broadloom that carpets grey cement on my path.

My collection of silver dragon, unicorn, and river pendants. And my silver kaleidoscope pendant filled with exquisite glass crystals.

My stacks of unread books, books, and books. Inspecting the binding and cover of a brand new book I am about to read.

Giving my 4th grader my collection of Harry Potter books. His devouring of them.

Found birds’ shells of blue- and brown-speckled white-ivity and acorns.


My luna moth tattoo. THIS makes me EXTREMELY ridiculously happy.

Watercolor paint tubes and brushes in glass vases.

Visiting New York City in my 40th year and Central Park’s street artist’s whimsical bird painting on canvas that hangs between colorful dresses in my studio.

My 2009 Seattle Half-Marathon time of 1:47:43, ran all right-brained.

Daily running in the brewing anteroom’s flotilla of Dawn’s rising blue-red.


My new Asics running shoes.


The breeze at Dawn has secrets to tell you.
Don’t go back to sleep.
(Rumi, thirteenth century)

GL, 1/16/2010. Prevail.

Monday, January 18, 2010

Favorite Flowers

Miniature Sunflowers in Dark on Glass through BlackBerry Viewfinder

GL, 1/18/2010. Prevail.

Friday, January 15, 2010

Haiku 16

Winter Solstice Ritual


Dawn’s eyelids flicker.
Winter loosens her tight grip
On Sunlight’s thin wrist.


Navy of morning.
Exhilaration on Dawn’s
Quivering forehead.


Blue-white on sidewalks
Somnambulating shadows
A circumspection.

GL, 12/22/2009. Prevail.

Wednesday, January 13, 2010

January 10, 2010, journal entry, Wishing Well Vase

Three to three point five-ish miles. Maybe four-ish?

I always like to go on an easy jaunt to stretch out my leg muscles the day following a long run. And my calf muscles ARE tight and stiff from yesterday’s 14 miles, but outside is icy, so, holding back a sigh, I strap my Yaktrax to my broken-down Brooks running shoes once again. Although I didn’t use them in yesterday’s misty crystalline snow that stung my cheeks and chin, when I turned to run into the wind, my eggplant-purple Adidas jacket’s fabric froze crispy with ice, crackling like a crunchy Autumn leaf, and when I went to wipe the fog of my breath from my black glasses, icy crystals stubbornly adhered to the lenses.

Cold and raw the north wind doth blow
Bleak in the morning early,
All the hills are covered with snow,
And winters now come fairly.

24 hours later, I am delighted to see that the tracks of my footprints have remained on the thin sheet of filigreed snow, reminding me of a tightly weaved spider’s web, the diamond-back impressions of my tractioned shoes now alongside them.

I feel playful.

Hark, hark! The dogs do bark!
Beggars are coming to town:
Some in jags, and some in rags
And some in velvet gown.

(And with glitter, too.)

A black crow perched on the labyrinthine trails of a pine tree’s branches chants, keeping time with my steps and in rhythm with the pulse of my breath. Caw caw, caw caw. Caw caw, caw caw. Flaunting her presence, she lifts and lights, her wingbeats moving like the migrating skein of geese above that loosens and tightens, arrows shifting positions.

Squirrels bound out of pockets of warmth in the low Winter sun, pause abruptly, throwing their heads up in a stiff entreating stance, ears twitching, tails whisking in a whorl of brown fur before they scamper away with their treasure trove of chocolate-brown chestnuts and acorns.

I see something shiny myself, a copper penny embedded in snow. I follow suit and carry it away in my own pocket.

Penny, penny, easily spent—
Copper brown and worth one cent.


This year, my right-brained runs shall be a treasure hunt.


I add my copper penny to my collected talismans of coins, acorns, eggshells of blue- and brown-speckled-white-tivity, rocks, and question-mark-shaped branches in my own treasure-filled reliquary.

Actually, on second thought, I think I shall drop it in my wishing well vase of copper pennies and silver coins. After all, lately, I have been seeing magpies aplenty.

Wishing Well Vase on Glass through BlackBerry Viewfinder

GL, 1/10/2010. Prevail.

Sunday, January 10, 2010

January 2, 2010, journal entry, Layers

13 miles.

In cold, I layer my purple Adidas running jacket over my long-sleeved shirt, black headband below my pigtails and over my ears, and thick Windshield gloves on my hands.

Earlier this week, I wore Yaktrax on my broken-down Brooks shoes to run on snow and ice layers.

Brown vines like brows thread through the grey wire layers of fences.

Bark peels in layers on tree trunks like paint on an abandoned house.

I layer step upon step, stride upon stride, and miles accumulate in an august posture.

Pruned rose bushes lie protected beneath their carapaces of layered orange pine needles.

Tensile shadows in layers stretch and constrict around me like dark veins pulsing in my temple.

Layers of white, yellow, and green repose on moss reposing on rocks, where light and shadow play hide-and-seek in clefts.

Snow slumps against cement curbs in black, grey, and white layers.

Continuing to layer on the miles, I turn, and turn again, and turn yet again, and in my run, join in the cavalcade of streets and paths.

Winter’s kaleidoscope turns the layers of branches like questions posed, green leaves, orange winter berries, and blue-white ice crystals.

Season layers upon season.

GL, 1/2/2010. Prevail.

Friday, January 8, 2010

Favorite Flowers

Edible Flowers on Glass through BlackBerry Viewfinder, 1/8/2010

GL, 1/8/2010. Prevail.

Monday, January 4, 2010

Triptych, 1/4/2010




GL, 1/4/2010. Prevail.