My niece, wide eyed, throws herself at life. It is a little hard for me to match her pace. She makes the climb, grins to set my heart aflame, and tosses herself headlong into the abyss. And then the long, swift slide. The inevitable bump when she is brought up short elicits a puzzled frown, ephemeral, and the climb again.
A woman to emulate, if only two years old.
The moon tonight was ringed by gray rainbow. The trail was black beneath the trees along the creek. Ten years ago I ran three miles a day, and then the misstep and two years of limping. But what am I saving myself for? What more important task than moving through night frog song air, the creek’s rush at my side? I ran. The ground would just have to meet me half way. The pavement buckled, its surface slick, and i could not see. I ran.
The run is shorter in darkness, my breath comes easier. Feet find their spot, each one in turn. At my breath’s end a light begins to glare orange and red, and I realize I have, for some time, been running with eyes closed.
Posted by: Chris Clarke
Categories:
The Creek
Hiking
The Neighborhood
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