10 Things I Noticed, 2022

someone on a fat tire
a human, bundled up, with a dog, not bundled up
a walker covered from head to toe, only their eyes peeking out from under a furry hood
a male runner in black tights, moving fast
a female runner, in a blue stocking cap, moving less fast
2 taller humans, one in a BRIGHT orange jacket, the other pulling a much smaller human in a sled
a group of people at the falls contemplating whether or not to jump the chain on the steps leading down to the falls, one of them said something about getting arrested — maybe, “we could get arrested” because they didn’t want to do it, or “we’re not going to get arrested” because they wanted to do it
2 people, near the locks and dam no 1, standing near the bike path, then crossing the river road to turkey hollow
a woman in a long winter coat with a dog on the bike path, turning up the walking path near the parking lot, entering minnehaha regional park
2 people, near the falls, turning away from the falls and heading past the summer seafood restaurant (Sea Salt) and heading back to a parking lot or the pavilion or the playground
4 or 5 geese, flying in a loose formation, honking, just above the lake street bridge
Daddy Long Legs, walking, in a bright orange vest, with black pants
Graffiti on a piling under the franklin bridge — just the outline of letters, no color. I wasn’t able to read the letters or the word they might have been spelling
The closed gate with an orange sign attached to it, blocking off the entrance to the minneapolis rowing club
voices below the lake street bridge
a man standing in the middle of the walking path, talking to someone sitting on a bench overlooking the white sands beach
the trail covered in loosely packed snow, except for a few narrow trails where feet or bike wheels or both had worn it down almost, but not quite, to bare asphalt
passing a runner, both of us raising our hands in greeting
no stones stacked on the ancient boulder
breakfast smells from longfellow grill — no burnt toast this time, just a subtle, gentle, general/generic smell of savory breakfast
the river: almost all white with a few off-white (gray? light brown?) spots
the path: a slightly wider strip of almost bare pavement than yesterday
2 walkers ahead of me on the path, waiting to cross at a spot just 15 feet from the crosswalk, then crossing over to Becketwood
kids playing at the minnehaha academy playground
graffiti on the biking part of the double bridge, the empty outline of orange and purple and blue letters
the falls: almost, but not quite, fully frozen. I could hear the softest rushing of water from behind the ice
about a dozen people at the falls
2 people walking up the hill in the park, one of them in a bright orange jacket
the view down to the spot where the creek collects and kids like to wade in the summer was grand and beautiful and white
running in the road on the spots between sidewalks, about half of the surface was bare, the rest was light brown snowy slush, looking like coffee ice cream
A runner in a bright orange jacket and black running tights, running fast. I think I saw him twice, or I saw 2 people at different times wearing bright orange jackets, running fast
3 people at the falls, near the stairs that descend to the bottom. Person 1: “Are you from around here?” Persons 2 and 3: “St. Paul. You?” Person 1: I couldn’t hear his reply. Persons 2 and 3: “Wow! Welcome!” I’m guessing he was from somewhere far away or interesting or both — maybe a different country?
A fat tire approaching me, then following behind as I turned to enter the park, then passing when I slowed down, and stopping by the stone wall above the falls next to a group of fat tires
A person standing at the far overlook, the one near the short stone wall with Longfellow’s “Song of Hiawatha” carved on its top, studying the falls
2 runners approaching me, then turning to run in the parking lot while I ran on the path. We ran in parallel to each other until they turned somewhere
A group of 6 runners, one of them with a dog, running north, spread across the width of the path. After I passed them, I could hear them behind me for a few minutes, chatting away, sounding closer even though they were slowly getting farther away
2 women walking below me on the snow-covered Winchell Trail
A woman running much slower than me, her jacket open and flapping as she moved
The blur of a runner, moving fast on Edmund
2 or 3 people stopped near the sidewalk, talking, with 2 dogs, one of them small and yippy. (I crossed to the other side to avoid them)
The clicking and clacking of ski poles, the scratching and scuffing of skis on bare pavement: a cross-country skier crossing the road! I think this is the first one I’ve seen this season
Kids laughing and yelling and having fun at the playground across the road
A walker and an unleashed dog on the Winchell Trail below me. For a moment, I thought the dog might be trying to keep up with me
The falls is fully frozen, at least it looks and sounds like it to me. All I saw was a hulking column of ice; all I heard was silence, no gushing or trickling water
Heard the call (not the peck) of a pileated woodpecker, the fee bee of a black-capped chickadee
The path had less snow on it. Some stretches were completely bare, others had wide strips that were clear. Under the ford bridge it was a soft, slushy mess
As I entered the river road trail, I passed someone who had been running, but just stopped. At first I thought she was muttering something under her breath, but then I realized she was breathing heavily, then I heard a voice coming out of her phone, giving her instructions that I couldn’t quite hear. Was she doing a couch to 5k program?
Noticed my shadow ahead of me as I ran south — clear and sharp in the bright sun
Heard the raucous laugh of a walker on the other side of edmund, her voice echoing
the regular, Santa Claus, bundled up in a bright orange jacket, with black running tights
a fat tire, their light cutting through the grayish white
almost everything looked soft, blanketed in snow; many things felt hard, sharp pellets of icy snow stinging my face
a car disappearing into the falling snow, near the trestle
a runner in glowing yellow
geese overhead, honking
impatient chickadees, their fee bee calls overlapping
the river: a lot of white, with streaks of dark, open water
4 people emerging from the forest below, crossing the river road
running on the road, at the end, mesmerized by the endless, blank white beneath me, feeling like I was running in place, or running through nothing, or not moving, just suspended in white
at least a dozen people walking around the falls, some of them up above, a few below, 2 walking across the frozen creek
the river, heading south: such a bright white, glowing, shining, blinding
lots of people on the Winchell Trail — the trees were so bare that I could see them clearly: someone with a dog, later someone in a bright orange or red jacket
the Winchell Trail between 42nd and 44th was hidden by snow
a sharp, loud bark from a dog somewhere below me, way down by the river?
1 or 2 fat tires
a man talking on a bluetooth headset, just exiting the walking part of the double bridge
A guy walking a dog, carrying a kid in a backpack
the sky, bright blue, cloudless
the river, heading north: flat, dull, looking more like a white field
right before starting my run, looking north on my street, the sidewalk was stretched out in a straight line for blocks, almost completely clear
the tight crunch of salt or ice-melt on the sidewalk in front of the church as I ran over it
the short stretch of sidewalk on the north side of lake street that leads over to trail was in rough shape: soft, sloppy, uneven
chirping birds, sounding like spring
everything looking like static, not quite staying still, except for the tree trunk which looked solid and very brown
everything also looking sepia-toned. Is it because of all the brown trunks?
a single crow cawing nearby
the river, 1: mostly white, with small holes of open water
the river, 2: under the bridge, open with gray water
the river, 3: down in the flats, just past the franklin bridge, I was closer to the water and the many spots where the ice/snow had cracked, everything still, not calm but desolate or abandoned
a lot of the path was clear, with big puddles, but a few stretches, like on the double bridge or under the ford bridge, were still covered in grayish-white, gloppy snow
someone was running below me on the Winchell Trail. We were parallel for a minute, but I was slightly faster, so we got out of sync
someone else was running, with a dog, on the walking side of the pedestrian bridge, through the deeper, unplowed snow
the falls were frozen — one tall column of ice with a dark hole in the middle
at least 3 or 4 bikes, some of them were fat tires
the river: all white, covered over with snow, no holes today, no sparkle either
some dogs barking below, in the gorge
they must have plowed the main roads earlier today; all of the entrances to the path/sidewalks were obstructed with short mounds of snow
no geese, no turkeys, no crows, maybe a woodpecker
forgot to take note of the sky while I was running, but earlier on my walk with Delia, I noticed it was bright blue with a few puffy clouds
the sizzle of dead leaves on the trees in the wind
what I thought was a geese, honking, turned out to be a woman laughing
the teacher’s whistle, loud and bright, signaling that recess was over at Minnehaha Academy
a kid yelling on the playground (before recess was over), or was he growling? I could tell he was playing a game, but what game was he playing to sound like that?
a loud scraping rush of noise, like a snowplow plowing a street crusty with snow, but not, because there was no plow
an orange sign signaling a curve in the road that I always mistake for someone’s jacket — or, maybe I should say, it gives me the feeling of a person standing there. I don’t see it as a person, I just feel it as one, if that makes any sense
the falls, fully iced over
about 1/2 a dozen people checking out the falls, one person walking over to read the sign about when a president (which one? I can’t remember) visited the falls
stopping to slowly walk on the walking side of the double bridge and looking down at the ravine. It seems much closer with all of the snow
mistaking the retaining wall near the start of the winchell trail, which was a thin dark brown line cutting through the white, for a thin slash of the river
the classic: a lone black glove, abandoned on the middle of the path
the river: all white, covered with snow
some kids sledding down the hill between edmund and the river road
cigarette smoke invading my nose, escaped from a truck
Dave the Daily walker (who I good morninged) was in more than his standard short-sleeved t-shirt. He had on a stocking cap, gloves, and something long-sleeved — a shirt, or a coat? I can’t remember
a chipper was set up in the grass between edmund and the river road, near minnehaha academy, rumbling and grinding and buzzing
a group of 4 or 5 fat tires
a biker approaching with their bike light on
the floodplain forest was white with tall, brown, slender trunks
someone in bright orange, sitting on a bench above the river, almost to franklin
School kids on the playground — in 0 degrees. Minnesota kids are hearty
The collar of my jacket rubbing against my hood
My breath, labored as I ran up a hill
Some sort of bird chirping, sounding like spring
A car’s wheel whooshing on the river road
A low, almost shrill and sharp, buzz just barely noticeable near the DQ
The soft shuffle of my feet striking the grit on the path
Someone on the walking side of the double-bridge holding a snowboard (I think?), then a thud, then that someone yelling something that sounded slightly distressed, but mostly not. What were they doing?
Returning 20 minutes later to the bridge, hearing some scraping or pounding in the ravine below. I don’t know what the noise was, but I imagined snowboard dude, along with some other snowboard dudes, was chipping ice, or climbing an ice column, or doing something else to ice to make it possible for them to get back up to the bridge. Will I ever know what was going on?
(not related to sound): a walker, or runner, I couldn’t tell, below me on the winchell trail. As I ran I wondered, was there even someone there, or was I imagining it?
one more: my shadow, behind me as I ran south. Sharp, well-defined
the floodplain forest was white and open and empty
the river was also white, with a few small cracks beginning to appear
for the first mile, there was a strong smell of gasoline. Was it the quality of the air, moisture holding in the fumes?
no one was sledding down the hill between edmund and the river road
running under the railroad trestle, I heard a chirp or a beep. I wondered if it was some strange bird then realized it was a warning beep. Was there a train coming? I looked and listened but couldn’t sense any sign of one
the huge boulder on the east side of the river was half covered with snow
thought I noticed someone running below, on the walking path, through the tunnel of trees — a flash of a gold shirt — but it was just some dead leaves on a tree
running west on the lake street bridge, the trees were a blur, whizzing past through the slats in the bridge railing
ran above the part of the Winchell Trail that steeply descends to the gorge, noticed how it was buried under snow, and thought about hiking it in the fall, which feels so long ago, and encountering a family as we climbed up and they climbed down: a father, a toddler in pajamas, and a mother with a baby strapped to her front
a few other speedy runners, 1 or 2 bikes, 2 or 3 dozen dogs, lots of walkers
the drumming of a woodpecker on a tree just above the oak savanna
the river, white and flat and quiet
2 or 3 park vehicles in turkey hollow — are they trimming some trees, or what?
the falls, frozen and still
clearest view of the river: between folwell and 38th, beside a split rail fence
best view of the falls: on the opposite end, near Longfellow’s “Song of Hiawatha” etched on top of a low stone wall. I stopped and stood on some packed down snow — a clear, straight shot of the falls, the creek, and the bluffs around it
the paths were almost completely clear except for a few spots where ice spread across one side (the result of snow that melted in the warm temps on Monday refroze)
kids yelling and laughing at the playground at Minnehaha Academy
a car pulling into one of the parking lots at the falls, then looping around quickly and leaving
About 10 people at the falls, walking above, admiring the view
2 runners spread out on the path ahead of me, staying a constant distance away. We must have been running at about the same speed
Thin sheets of ice lining the sides of the path, near the creek, by the river
My shadow, somewhere
the 2 runners turning off by Becketwood, taking the paved path that turns back into the neighborhood
the annoying, insistent, whining buzz or ringing near the DQ of some sort of construction equipment
no clear trail on the walking path (or, what some older woman called it as we tried to carefully pass her on our bikes about 7 or 8 years ago: “the people path”) that passes by the golden grove of trees and the duck bridge
sprinting across the street as the light turned yellow (and making it safely, with plenty of time). Hearing a horn honk at the pickup truck first in line at the light — had they not noticed the light had turned because they were distracted by me running by a few seconds before?
the lake was completely covered in snow, no open spots
mostly the wind was at my back, but sometimes it pushed me from the side
being passed by 2 runners near the falls, one of them called out “morning” as they passed. I called out, as usual, “good morning” — not sure why I always add the good to my morning when everyone else always says, “morning”?
very light gray sky, almost white
the river was covered over; the snow/ice was mostly white with some stained spots that were a faint grayish-brown. Is that where the ice is thinning?
the falls were completely frozen over. No roar, or dribble, or drip
the creek below the falls was frozen over too, everything still, stopped
as I approached the falls, I heard a lot of kids yelling and laughing. I wondered if it was a field trip and if they’d be near the falls overlook, taking over the path. They weren’t. They were at the playground instead
running on the sidewalk through the neighborhood, the ice sometimes shimmered when the light was brighter. On the trail above the gorge, the ice was dull and flat and slightly brown. None of it was too slick
on the outer rim of the Minnehaha Regional Park, near the road, I heard a loud boom: something being dropped into a big truck at a construction site
someone was hiking with a dog down below on the snow-covered winchell trail
every time I run by a trashcan that’s across the parking lot near the oak savanna, I think it’s a person. Mistaking trashcans for people happens a lot to me
a group of much faster runners passed me on the double bridge. I watched as the distance between us became greater, then they turned up by the locks and dam no. 1 to cross the ford bridge and I didn’t see them again
bonus: greeted Santa Claus! Our method for greeting: raising our right hands to each other
running above the tunnel of trees, on the plowed biking trail instead of unplowed walking path, there were big chunks, almost balls, of snow on the edge of the path. Some were bright white, others with a tinge of gray. I made sure to avoid them but wondered, are these chunks of snow soft or hard? If I hit one with my foot, would it crumble or would my toe?
lots of birds singing, sounding like spring, mostly cardinals, I think. At least one black-capped chickadee doing their fee bee song
ran by the porta-potty below the lake street bridge. The door was closed so I steered clear of it, imagining someone might quickly open it on me, if I was too close. Last week, I ran by it and it was wide open. Why?
the path was completely covered in snow. Some of it was soft, like sand, and difficult to run on. Some of it, was packed down or scraped away by a plow. Will most of this melt in the sun?
the smell of the sewer, near 28th street as I passed a crosswalk. Stinky and fishy and foul
a car doing a 3 point road turn at the top of hill, just past lake street, near longfellow grill
a man and his dog, hanging out near the trestle, just above the steps down to the winchell trail, which are closed for the winter
2 runners, one of them wearing a red coat, shuffling her feet
looking back to check if a biker was coming, see my shadow following me
running down the hill to under the bridge, feeling like I was flying, my arms and feet in sync, my breathing easy
at the start of my run: the drumming of a woodpecker! The clear, crisp staccato sound of knocking on hollow wood
right before the drumming, I heard the call I often hear that sounds sort of like a loon, at least to me. It seemed to be calling out, “you think I am a woodpecker? You’re right!”
the path was mostly clear, dry in sometime parts, wet in others. The chunks of snow that I noticed two days ago were almost all gone, melted or kicked out of the way
blue sky, with the quick flash of a white airplane moving through it
at least 2 or 3 groups of runners — small groups, 3-5 runners
a lone goose honking. This time, I looked up and tried to locate it. Almost. I could sense them in the sky, way up high, felt the idea of them, but never actually saw them
the ice of the river is beginning to crack open near the bridges, big streaks of dark water
a few people were hiking through the tunnel of trees on the part of walking trail that never gets plowed. How deep is the snow there?
after I finished my run, walking back home, a squirrel dangling in a branch high above my head
on my block I stopped to listen to spring slowly approaching: so many trilling cardinals, a few black-capped chickadees, dripping eaves!
that same bird call that I’ve been hearing and wondering about happened again, right before I reached the river. I heard it, then hoped it would be followed by some drumming. It was! I’m calling it; this sound is a pileated woodpecker
a distant goose, or geese?
cawing crows
cardinals, doing at least 3 or 4 of their 16 (is it 16?) songs
black-capped chickadees
my shadow: off to the side, then behind, then finally in front of me
the shadow of the old-fashioned lamp posts on the trail. So big, they almost looked ,\like giant potholes to me
the river slowly opening. Still white, but darkening and thinning
a kid yelling at the playground. At first, I thought they were a siren — so high-pitched and insistent!
a mixing of sounds: an airplane, a bobcat, a crow, a kid, all crying out
lots of crows
on the way back from the falls, after I put my headphones in, a cardinal’s trill fit very nicely with Cee Lo Green’s singing in “Crazy”
a few walkers done below on the Winchell Trail
primary noise: cars’ whooshing wheels on the river road
a crew was out, in front of Minnehaha Academy, sawing down some tree limbs. The chainsaw started as an irritating whine, then a bzzzz
laughing and yelling kids out on the school playground
the snow on the hill in the oak savanna is melting fast — I saw some bare patches
the falls: still frozen, all the trails and the stairs are covered in crusty, icy snow
conversation overhead: something like, “and that’s what your dad was doing…”
all the puddles from yesterday were solid and slick ice today
running above the tunnel of trees and the floodplain forest, I could see the river. Brown, open water
later on the bridge, looking down at the river, near the banks, it was all white, with a thin line of dark brown parallel to the shore
on the east side of the river, looking at the lake street bridge, the distance between bridge and water didn’t seem that great, but on the bridge, looking down at the river, it seemed tremendous
running past Black Coffee, noticed a person sitting in the window with a newspaper — were they reading about the war? drinking black coffee or coffee with milk?
cretin, which runs past St. Thomas University, was thick with cars
early in the run, on the west side of the river not far from home, thought I heard the bells at St. Thomas. Later, running down the hill above shadow falls, close to St. Thomas, I heard them again — the clock cycled through all four parts of the song — the parts that chime at 1/4 past, 1/2 past, 1/4 to, and on the hour. I couldn’t quite remember when I started running, so I counted the chimes at the end of the song cycle: 11. 11 am
running back over lake street bridge, I looked down and saw 2 somethings in the water. Could they be ducks? I stopped, stood on my tiptoes, and looked through the railing. Yes, 2 ducks!
at the start of my run, a block from my house, noticed a HUGE crow on someone’s lawn. I had to check again to make sure it wasn’t a turkey
looking down at the steep slopes of the gorge, noticed veins of white snow in the cracks
some new graffiti in vivid blues and greens on a lower wall of the lake street bridge, in a spot where’s no trail or stairs
the river was open, the water brown, the banks glowed with white snow
there were big puddles on the sidewalk, but the trail was almost completely clear
one huge puddle covered almost the entire trail between 42nd and 44th
bird sounds heard: the song and drumming of a pileated woodpecker; a cardinal’s trill; the fee bee song from a black-capped chickadee; a goose’s honk
kids were playing at minnehaha academy; I could hear their laughter. Also heard the teacher’s whistle for the end of recess
some of the sidewalks around minnehaha regional park were covered in sharp, crusty snow that had frozen again overnight
at Wabun Park, I had to stop and walk in the snow because the trail was covered in a thick, slick sheet of barely frozen ice. A fat tire slowed way down to bike over it. I liked the crunching sound of the fat tires as they crushed the ice
a traffic jam at the 3 way stop near the entrance to wabun: 4 cars went by before I could cross
just north of the 44th street parking lot, something orange near the WPA stone steps down to the Winchell Trail caught my eye as I ran by. A jacket? Graffiti on the stones? Not sure, but I think it was the sign on a chain stretched across the railings to block the entrance. I couldn’t see anything clearer, partly because of my vision and partly because I was in motion. It was almost as if my brain called out to me, “Orange!”, and that was it
a wide open, brilliant view over to the other side
the drumming of woodpeckers on different types of wood — trees, a utility pole
geese, part 1: one goose, with a painful (extra mournful?) honk, flying with at least one other goose, pretty low in the sky
geese, part 2: 3 geese on the path in the flats. Even though I was looking carefully, and noticed the orange cones that they were standing beside, I didn’t see the geese until I was almost next to them
geese, part 3: running past these 3 geese again, I kept my distance, crossing to other end of the trail. Two of the geese were too busy rooting through the snow to notice, but the third one faced me, as if to say, “back off!”
geese, part 4: as I neared lake street, there was a cacophony of honks trapped below the bridge
in the flats: the fee bee call of a black-capped chickadee, both parts: the call, and the response!
Daddy Long Legs sitting on his favorite bench, above the Winchell Trail, on the stretch after the White Sands Beach and before the Franklin Bridge
the wind of many car wheels, then a whoosh when one passed over a puddle
open water
watching the traffic moving fast over the 1-35 bridge near Franklin as I ran under
the drumming of a woodpecker: not rapid and insistent, but sporadic and dull. Does that mean the wood was more hollow or less?
the oak savanna was all yellow and brown, no snow in sight
all the walking trails were clear of ice and open!
ahead of me I thought I noticed a man walking with a dog. As I got closer, they were gone. Had I imagined it? No, I saw a flash of them below me on the steep, dirt trail down to the savanna
again, ahead of me I thought I saw two people walking near the 38th steps who then disappeared. Had I just mistaken the trashcans for people (which I do frequently)? No, as I passed the steps, there they were, entering the paved part of the Winchell Trail
several walkers on the Winchell Trail
bright car headlights cutting through the gloom, passing through the bare branches on the other side of the ravine
a man in bright blue shorts and matching shirt with sunglasses (?), running with a dog, or was it 2? We passed each other twice
Mr. Morning! greeted me. I’m pretty sure I responded with my own “morning” instead of “good morning!” (which is my usual response)
the ravine was partly clear, partly covered in snow. I tried to listen for the water flowing down to the river, but I could only hear the rain and the car wheels and the clanging of my zipper pull
swirling leaves (seen)
a woodpecker’s bill rapidly pecking on hollow wood (heard)
the rush of fast-moving air on my arm (felt)
Minnehaha Creek bouncing off of the limestone ledge then falling over the falls (seen)
the river moving swiftly downstream under the Ford Bridge, encouraged by the wind (seen)
dead leaves in a tree, shaking (heard)
a shadow barely creeping over the creek under the tall bridge (seen)
a black truck crossing the bridge then turning right (seen)
many runners, including one moving slightly slower than me over by the gorge, as I ran on Edmund (seen)
a flag at half mast (for Madeline Albright) waving gently (I expected it to be flapping in this wind, but it wasn’t) (seen)
15 Things I Noticed:
there were 3 stones stacked on top of each other on the big boulder heading down into the tunnel of trees
water was dripping or streaming out of the limestone on the st. paul side — I didn’t see it, but heard it
my feet were shshshshshshing as I ran over grit on the edge of the path on the franklin bridge
one laminated notecard was still attached to the railing on the lake street bridge. It was the one I stopped to read last week: “your story doesn’t have to end.” What happened to the others? Why was this the only kept?
at least one runner was wearing shorts
the wind was in my face as I headed north on the west side, at my back heading south on the east side
there were no rowers on the river and no roller skiers on the path
the edge of the paved path was white. I decided it was stained from salt, not covered in lingering ice or snow — too warm
the walking path under the lake street bridge on the east side is still closed off — I think Scott said the path had crumbled there. Can they (will they) fix it?
there was a tree trunk down on the winchell trail that looked like a sitting person, at least to me
the shadow of a bird crossed over me. I looked up but couldn’t see it in the sky
lots of honking geese, sometimes the sound of their honks became indistinguishable from a yelling kid or a moving car
a peloton of 6 or 7 bikes passed me. Their spinning wheels were so loud! Spinning, whirring, rumbling. My sudden thought: how loud the 200+ bikes I see at the bike races I watch must be!
a deep voice off the side, carrying clearly across the road, cutting through everything, almost rattling my skull
the top of a split rail fence at a steep part of the path is missing — how did that happen?
a new neighbor has repositioned a drain pipe so that water from their basement dumps out on the sidewalk I take for almost every run, soaking it. A few weeks ago, when it was colder, this water quickly turned to ice, now it’s only an irritating puddle
running west over the lake street bridge, the river was broad and blue and rippling
running east, the river was brown and flat
no smells from Black Coffee, at the top of the marshall hill
the branches of the trees reaching up from below the trail on the east side looked silver and dead or dormant or nowhere close to sprouting leaves
wind rustling through some dead leaves, but no sound of water above shadow falls
don’t remember hearing any birds or seeing any squirrels
they are doing some sewer work near 7 oaks — I heard the beep beep beep of a truck backing up, then saw a huge concrete cylinder waiting to be buried below the street — how long will all of this take?
encountered at least 3 pairs of walkers — I think I heard some of their conversations, but I can’t remember any words now
my zipper pull was banging against my shirt at the beginning of my run, making a dull thud that I couldn’t not hear. Did it stop, or was I able to tune it out?
running in the neighborhood, nearing the entrance to the river road trail at 36th, I watched as a truck sped through the 3 way stop without even a pause. Glad I wasn’t a few feet closer!
lots of black-capped chickadees calling out, “Fee bee/fee Bee”
I think Mr. Morning! mornied me
the water near the franklin bridge had streaks of foam
a mix of sounds: a dog barking, my feet striking the ground, my breathing — not completely relaxed, but not labored either, a saw buzzing, car wheels whooshing, quiet thoughts in my head echoing
a person on a hoverboard (is that what they’re called?) whizzed past me near the lake street bridge
people sitting on the benches dotting the rim of the gorge
one of the oak trees near the old stone steps was shrugging its limbs at me
a bug — a bee? a fly? — bounced off of my baseball cap
running above the gorge, I noticed some people below me slowly making their way up the steep slope — what did I notice? Not whole people, just a head or a hat or a flash of something that made me think, “people are down there on the steep slope”
someone in shorts (like me), running fast and effortlessly
2 women running slow and steady and spreading across the walking path
a runner with a dog
a walker with a dog
an older man, half running, half walking
the big cracks in the asphalt from the savanna to 44th street, have rings of white spray paint around them that have recently been redone. The crack with the ring that looks like a tube sock seems to have shifted a bit farther from the walking path, closer to the bike path
1 stone stacked on another, a 3rd stone beside them on the ancient boulder
more light green leaves on the trees in the floodplain forest
no headlings on the cars driving on the river road
an older man, slowly jogging on edmund. As I approached him, I waved. He said something but I couldn’t hear it with my headphones on
my left hip is a little tight
it is very humid
I hate my sinuses and allergies; I wish I could breathe fully through my nose
I wish I had worn a tank top. I’m so glad I didn’t wear that sweatshirt I almost put on because I was cold in the house!
an intense floral scent — lilac, maybe?
only a few big branches down near the trail
a woman walking and pushing a stroller, a dog leash in one hand, a dog stretched across the trail
several walkers dressed for winter in coats and caps
an inviting bench perched at the edge of the gorge, taking in the last of the clear view before the green veil conceals it
the creak of some branches in the wind: another rusty door opening!
the green is filling in, the view is disappearing
heard some noises below me, in the ravine by the 44th street parking lot. Was it people camping down there now that it’s warm? I didn’t see any tents
the hollow knock of a woodpecker’s beak, echoing out over the gorge
the falls, gushing and roaring, spilling over the limestone ledge
2 people stopped at the stone slabs etched with Longfellow’s “Song of Hiawatha.” Were they reading the lines?
crossing the small bridge just above the falls, 3 kids taking a selfie and a biker next to his bike
running past the wrought-iron green benches sprinkled along the trail, I noticed the sun illuminating one half of each bench — perfect for a pair where one person wants sun, the other shade
heard the fake dinging of the recorded bell on the train as it approached the station
running over the high bridge that leads to the Veterans’ home, I could hear the fast moving water in the creek
a runner was doing hill training at the locks and dam no. 1 — maybe I should try that?
Mr. Morning! mornied me
no stones stacked on the ancient boulder
some green on the welcoming oaks
an empty over-turned clear plastic cup in front of the porta-potty under the lake street bridge
a strong floral scent
received at least 2 or 3 waves from other runners
several walkers with dogs
at least 2 strollers
the tunnel of trees is completely filled in with green leaves
running straight into the wind, up a hill, 2 bikers were biking so slow behind me that it took forever for them to pass
at the start of my run, passed under the thick, horizontal branch of a sprawling oak tree and imagined it falling on my head…crack!
a blue river
many of the benches were filled, one person per bench, not sure if I saw any with two or more people
running down to the start of the Winchell Trail, I passed somone sitting in the grass, facing the river, right next to the paved trail
took my headphones out as I entered the lower trail and heard the kids on the playground above me and on the other side of the river road
heard some bikers above me as I crested the hill after the ravine with the sewer pipe that gushes (as opposed to the one that drips) — I tried to make out their words, but couldn’t
a mix of sounds near folwell: a leaf blower, the rushing wind, a bird*, cars
parts of the winchell trail were muddy, but the part that is usually the worst — the stretch between 38th and the savanna — was mostly fine
the dirt trail below the mesa, in the oak savanna, was mostly soft sand (limestone?) instead of packed dirt. Is that the consistency of this soil, or did they bring in more soil here to create this trail?
at least 4 (was it more? I couldn’t tell) stones stacked on the ancient boulder
a spazzy squirrel almost jumped out in front of me, but quickly turned and ran up the tree next to me
I just remembered that the school group I mentioned above was below me, at the spot where the creek collects and kids wade in the summer
a few big puddles on the path — I avoided all of them
the sewer pipes were all dripping or gushing
I waved to at least 2 other runners
a biker whizzed by me from behind — it felt close!
I encountered a tall runner in shorts and a t-shirt — I think they were both gray — twice, once heading south and once heading north
no kids at the Minnehaha Falls playground
someone was stopped at the water fountain in the 36th street parking lot, filling up a water bottle
At the start and end of my run, as I neared the river, a street crew was blowing smoke through the manhole, checking for sewer cracks and leaks. Smoke billowed up and spreading out across the street
No rowers
a big group (10+) of roller skiers, with a coach on a bike in the back
a biker calling out to his friend: “I love that show!” what show?
a sliver of blue river through the leaves
no stacked stones on the ancient rock
the path felt like it was floating in the trees at the spot where it’s so thick with green above and below that you can tell where the ground or sky are
passed Mr. Holiday and he said, “well, at least there’s sun”
clouds in the sky, sometimes covering the sun
a blue plastic tarp folded up on the ground under the lake street bridge, near the porta potty
no squirrels or chipmunks or black-capped chickadees or woodpeckers or sewer smells or burnt toast smells or purple flowers but one irritating mosquito bite on the back of my leg
a cardinal on the path, near the edge. The light and my bad color vision made the red glow in strange ways. It almost looked purple. I wondered if it might be a scarlet tanager, which is found in the gorge, but they have deep black wings, and the one I saw did not
an off, so sweet it was sour smell near the ravine — the sewer
a blue river with some white foam
black capped chickadees singing their fee bee song
no tarp under the lake street bridge on the minneapolis side, but some sort of tarp hanging off a piling on the st. paul side
a empty bench on the east side, its back to the river, facing the road
another empty bench on the east side facing the river with a clear view to the other side
shshshshsh of my feet stepping down on the winter grit that’s settled at the edges of the path on the franklin bridge
closed: Meeker Island Dam dog park (flooding); the road down to the east river flats (flooding); the walking path under the lake street bridge on the east side (erosion — the asphalt has caved in or fallen off into the river)
a runner in shorts and a tank top who I first noticed as walker, walking up the lake street hill. She was talking with someone on the phone — speaker phone? or bluetooth headset? — and running slowly on the dirt trail next to the paved path
the stones stacked on the ancient boulder were small and leaning
workers #1: the walking part of the double bridge near 33rd seemed clearer today — did they come through and trim some bushes and trees?
the steady click click click clack of ski poles hitting the ground as a roller skier powered up the small hill just south of lake street
workers #2: the dirt trails leading down into the gorge between 33rd and lake street were a dark, deep brown. I wondered if workers had brought in some mulch, but then decided the trails were just wet
the dirt trail right next to the paved one near a park sign, was mushy and soft and difficult to run over
heading east on the lake street bridge, the water was blue and empty — no logs or rowers
peering the windows at Black coffee at the top of the Marshall hill, I noticed several tables were empty (also: no smells of delicious waffles today)
workers #3: the distinctive smell of fresh tar, then bright orange cones, a few trucks, and some workers filling in potholes and cracks in the road
the water from shadow falls, which only comes after it rains, sounded like it was spraying out of a shower on a soft setting
nearing the lake street bridge, I thought I heard leaves rustling in the wind, but I think it was another hidden waterfall — is it possible to hike hear this one, or see it from the other side?
a turkey! — not in turkey hollow, but near beckettwood, not too far from the spot where Scott and I saw the eagle a few weeks ago
running parallel to another runner — I was on the dirt trail in the grassy boulevard, they were across the river road on the trail. Not totally consciously, I sped up to distance myself from the distraction of their constant presence in my peripheral vision
wore my older running shoes because of the mud. When I started, it felt like my feel were striking the pavement directly: no cushion
screeching blue jays, whirring (?) cardinals
rushing wind through the trees
my jagged breathing and flushed face
squishy mud near minnehaha academy
some kids playing in a front yard, screaming (in delight?) as I ran by
a motorized scooter passing me, then turning around in the Dowling Elementary parking lot — did they go the wrong way? were they confused by the construction on 38th?
almost forgot the honking geese, but remembered when I added “Above, the Geese” to this entry. Not sure how many there were or how high in the sky, but their honking made me curious: are they heading north now?
my breathing — often jagged
the wind howling past my ears
a few kids at the playground — not too loud or too exuberant. Were they subdued by the wind? — either their spirits or voices?
a faint bagpipe from somewhere over on the other side, in St. Paul — a Monday after Memorial Day ceremony?
the falls rushing and gushing
the sewer pipe trickling
my left foot striking the ground a littler harder than my right
“Eye of the Tiger” (when I briefly put my headphones in)
“I Knew You Were Trouble”
cars whizzing by
cigarette smoke from somewhere — a car driving by? a person below, in the gorge?
a screeching blue jay (or is it bluejay?)
no stones stacked on the ancient boulder
rowers on the river! I didn’t see them, but heard the coxswain calling out instructions through her bullhorn
a roller skier slowly approaching from behind, not moving much faster than me. At first, the striking of the their poles was a loud sharp “clack!” in a steady rhythm. Clack! Clack! Clack! Clack! Then, heading up a hill, it shortend and softened: “clack clack clack” It took them almost half a mile to pass me
saw at least 3 people with fishing poles — 2 walking on the trail, one by the edge of the river, ready to cast their line — what fish can you get in the river near franklin avenue?
wind and a few creaks from the trees
a large group of bikers spread out on the franklin hill, traveling up it at various speeds. Some were charging up it, others steadily plodding, one biker was weaving back and forth, another barely crawling. The bikers at the very back were walking their bikes
all the benches were empty — were they lonely or relieved to have some solitude?
ended in the tunnel of trees and marveled at the dappled/dappling light
heading east, over the lake street bridge, the water was blue and had lots of white, ghostly streaks near the surface. Not swirls but something else — what causes these cloudy currents? A few years ago, I wrote about these, referring to them as cataracts, or the clouds that come when eyes develop cataracts
heading west, over the lake street bridge, the water was brown and the ghostly streaks less visible, even more ghostly
lots of traffic everywhere — on the bridge, up the marshall hill. Running on the sidewalk, a safe distance from the road, I was able to pass some cars as they waited to merge or at the light
running up the hill, I smelled some flowering bush. Not lilacs, but something else that I should remember but can’t right now. Too much!
running at the top of the hill, I smelled waffles from Black coffee
a kind pedestrian moved out of the way to let me pass on the sidewalk. When I thanked them, they replied, “Oh, no problem!” or something friendly like that
some sort of sporting event happening at st. thomas. I could hear the cheers and an announcer saying something over the loudspeaker
3 bikers biked passed me on the bridge. I was pressed as close to the railing as I could. One of them whizzed by so closely that I almost felt their breeze. I whispered under my breath, “people suck.”
music coming out of (I don’t think it was loud enough to be described as blasting) the speakers of a passing bike. No doppler effect
emerging from the tunnel of trees, I heard (but didn’t see) the click click clack of the ski poles of a roller skier!
lots of bikers, mostly single bikers or groups of 2, one large, spread out group, several of them wearing bright yellow jackets
no blue jays or chickadees, but lots of little chirping birds — I wondered if they were warblers
the faint voices of kids playing on the Dowling Elementary playground
exchanging deep head nods with a man using a walker
Minneapolis parks is mowing today — saw and heard a big lawn mower speeding by on the path. More evidence of the lawn mowing: the smell of freshly cut grass
encountering another runner down below on the winchell trail, near its southern start, where all the asphalt has reverted to dirt. They were wearing sweatpants and maybe (I can’t quite remember) a sweatshirt too?
voices below, in the gorge — rowers?
mud on the trail from yesterday’s rain, but not enough to slip in or on or through
trickling water in several different spots in the ravine, just north of the oak savanna
the dirt trail below the mesa that the parks dept cleared out last year is showing signs of being reclaimed: weeds popping up in the middle of the path
drumming woodpeckers, twice
the music from the ice cream truck
a biker calling out calmly and quietly as she passed, “on your left”
the season has barely begun and the part of the white buoys under the water was thick with muck…yuck
no clear views below of biggish fish or hairbands or the bottom
near the shore, dozens of minnows parted as I moved through the water
the water was opaque, with shafts of light pushing their way through
I could see the white buoys, mostly the feeling that they were there
the view as I lifted my head to the side and out of the water to breathe was much clearer than my view as I looked straight ahead
I heard some kids laughing as I neared the far end of the beach
when I started, there were a few groups of people swimming, when I stopped, I was one of the few people still in the water
I breathed every five strokes
there was a seagull perched on the white buoy as I neared it. At the last minute, it flew off — was it looking for a big fish?
the river! It was a beautiful blue. I didn’t stare straight at it, but noticed it off to the side, looking extra blue because of the sun and the green that framed it. No details to add, like sparkling waves or fast moving currents or big branches floating downstream. Just blue. As I ran, I felt the constant, pleasant presence of blue.
running in the 36th street parking lot, past the entrance to the Winchell Trail, I heard a strange horn-like sound. It was LOUD — what was it? Then I saw a very little kid on a bike, no adult that I could see (which doesn’t mean they weren’t there; I often don’t see people who are there). They called out, “daddy?” a few times. I wondered if I should stop to see if they were okay, but their “daddy” didn’t sound urgen or scared so I kept going
4 people gathered on the walking trail, sort of, but not quite, off to the side
a few kids crossing the river road just past the gathered group
encountering several bikes, staying in their same, still seeming too close
a squirrel standing still, which I initially mistook for a cardinal (because, yes, my vision is that bad)
a person, or 2 people?, stretched out on one of the many benches resting right above the river — not the bench by the big old rock or near folwell, but near the old stone steps
water trickling out of the sewer pipes
update on #1: passing through the oak savanna at the end of my run, I encountered “daddy,” the kid, and the source of the loud horn: an extra loud bike horn. The dad blasted it for his kid’s amusement right before I reached them. He was on a fat tire, the kid on one of those training bikes without pedals — what are those called?
the smell of chemicals for a lawn, or water from a hose
the river, nearing the lake street bridge on the west side: such a pale blue it was almost white, a nice contrast with the vibrant green
the river, heading east over the lake street bridge: still, quiet, no waves, no sparkling. Something about its flatness, combined with the unruly green made it look hot — not like the water was hot, but that being near it was
the river, heading west back over the lake street bridge: the water was split with one half blue, the other half brownish-green — a reflection of the trees along the shore
the river, standing at the overlook at the middle of the bridge: more cloudy currents below. What causes this? Is it sand bars, or something else?
on the bridge, I noticed a big crane over on the St. Paul side. I wondered if I encounter it while running through the neighborhood (I didn’t).
below the bridge, I noticed the walking trail was open again — they must have fixed the bit that caved in
a runner ahead of me on the bridge and then running up the marshall hill. They kept going on marshall; I turned on cretin
at the top of the hill, Black coffee looked mostly empty, at least the low of empty stools I saw in the front window
today, I remembered running through the tunnel of trees. This time I was heading south instead of north. What I remembered: a blur of green off to the side, a paved path stretching far in front of me, no one else around
no stones stacked on the boulder
one of the welcoming oaks is very close to the paved trail, just a few inches away
right before reaching the oaks, above the ravine, a tree that fell last week — or the week before? — is still there, leaning over the edge, split in a few places
chick-a-dee-dee-dee-dee
a honk or two
2 bikers and a roller blader, moving and chatting together on the bike path
comiing up behind me, I heard a voice saying to someone else, “there’s 5 of us coming up behind you,” then one biker with a trailer passing me, then moving over to the side while 5 bikers in bright yellow shirts biked past
another, fast biker, approaching a few seconds later. I tried to listen to hear if they said, “on your left,” I don’t think so
rowers on the river! the evidence: the coxswain’s voice gently offering guidance through a bullhorn
a walker, listening to some funk music through their phone in the tunnel of trees
all (almost all?) of the benches were empty
the water was mostly smooth swimming from the big beach to the little beach
lots of silver streaks or flashes below me: big fish, I think
breathed every 5, except for in the choppiest parts
only got quick flashes of orange and green buoys
from the little beach back to the big beach the water was very choppy, lots of waves
when I stopped to get my bearing, or to adjust my goggles, I could hear the loud din from the big beach — so many people!
I hardly ever encountered any other swimmers out in the lake, although I know there were many more people swimming with me
glimpse 1: a swimmer, not too far from me, between the first and second buoys. All I could see was the bright yellow swim buoy tethered to their waist
glimpse 2: 2 women treading water near the 3rd orange buoy/little beach — at least, I think there were 2 of them. I couldn’t see them, just heard their voices. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, just that they were talking. I think it might have been about how difficult the swimming was today
I passed by several lifeguards on kayaks — a few of them moved back to give me space, one of them seemed to paddle alongside me for a few strokes
in the parking lot above the oak savanna: 2 adults standing on the edge of the walking path doing some weird dance — it almost looked like tai chi — were they doing some tiktok dance?
someone on an old school skateboard
lots of bikes, zooming past me, too close
a niceride or some other rental bike parked in the middle of the part of the Winchell Trail right before some old stone steps up to the 44th st parking lot
the sewer pipe at 42nd was flowing
voices above me on the paved trail
some cool, shaded spots on the winchell trail
hardly any bugs, except for the one that flew in my mouth that I had to spit out. Yuck!
climbing the small hill near winchell, I noticed a runner on the paved path. I wonder if she was hot as I was?
the sewer pipe at the ravine between 36t st parking lot and the overlook was trickling steadily, making it sound cooler
above the tunnel of trees: light green, dark green, green air. Felt like I was flying above the trees
before the tunnel: 3 stones stacked on the ancient boulder. I wonder, are they same stones every time — they fall off and someone picks them up and stacks them again?
2 runners with a running stroller, a kid in it crying, one of the adults saying, “we’ll be home soon”
voices drifting up from the Winchell Trail right by the railroad trestle
the smell of pot by the ravine
a few others bits of conversation — I think I was able to hear a word or two, but I can’t remember the words now
starting out my run in the neighborhood, hearing some talking, not able to identify any words. I knew they were words, but no idea what the words were. I was reminded of these lines from a Jane Hirshfield poem I encountered a few weeks ago: “An almost readable language./ Like the radio heard while traveling in a foreign country—/You know that something important has happened, but not what.”
the whooshing of car wheels mixing with the wind
yes! I just remembered one thing I’d forgotten! a car blasting “Renegade” by Styx as I neared the double bridge just north of the old stone steps and longfellow flats
surfaces: west dirt, dry dusty dirt, concrete, asphalt, grass
the orange buoys, at least 2 of the 3, were in a neat row, cutting diagonally across the lake
the bottom of the overturned lifeguard boat at the little beach was hard to spot through the waves — no sparkling silver streak to follow
water visibility: I could see my hands in front of me and the bubbles they made with each stroke, but not much else
the final green buoy was drifting in the wind, the rope attached to a weight that anchored it was close to the surface, I barely cleared it as I rounded the buoy
my bright yellow buoy, tethered to my waist, was pushed into me by the wind several times
a few female voices near the orange buoy closest to the little beach, a few swimmers resting and comparing notes before heading back to the big beach
the water felt heavier or slower or like some part of it was trying to drag me down, harder to float
off to the side, I noticed another swimmer swmming very far from the buoys — was this on purpose, or were they way off course?
no vines wrapping around my head or big branches floating in front of me
one seagull flying towards me
rower’s voices from down below!
3 stones stacked on the boulder
a man fully covered in black sweatpants and a black jacket, with a white towel around his neck. Aren’t you hot, I thought as I passed him
dark in the tunnel of trees, difficult to see if other people were there
the pedestrian part of the double-bridge between 33rd and 32nd streets is overgrown with vines and bushes and leaves. Makes it harder to see if someone’s coming the other way, and narrower, making it harder to pass. Thankfully, no collisions today
the small stretch of dirt trail that I take as the path nears the lake street bridge is wet — I think there was a brief, strong storm last night, or was that a dream?
a group of 3 fast bikers riding on the road, a cautious car following behind
a darting squirrel
a flash of movement of the leaves beside the trail – was the flash from the sun hitting the leaves just right, or a critter — a bird or chipmunk or squirrel?
later in my run, encountered Mr. black sweatsuit with white towel again. He said a soft, “morning,” and I nodded my head as a reply
Greeting Dave, the Daily Walker
Also greeting Mr. Morning!
the dirt on the trail was loose and sandy and a light tan — so dry!
a man was standing under the lake street bridge looking at his phone
was that his bike on the other side of the porta potty?
chirping chipmunks down in the gorge
several of the benches along the trail were occupied
2 bikers converging from different directions at the entrance to the greenway bike trail, one much faster than the other — I briefly wondered if they would run into each other
at least twice, I felt sweat dripping off of my elbow. Where was it coming from? My pony tail?
heard near a 3-way stop: funk music from a car stereo
a recumbant bike
a roller skier
a tall-ish woman in black walking — I think I’ve encountered her in past summers, walking this same route
the dirt trail was tightly packed with very dry earth between Becketwood and 38th
the dirt trail was loose, sandy dust between 38th and 36th
the river was completely hidden behind a veil of green
2 hikers with backpacks and hiking poles, emerging from the short stretch of trail that dips below the road right after the double bridge
the falls were rushing over the limestone ledge, but were less visible, tucked in behind all of the green leaves
no surreys or bikes-for-rent at the falls yet. When do they put them out?
bikers on the dirt path: first, a young kid with a walking adult, next, a mountain biker
a roller skier and their poles singing, click click click click
a man talking on a bluetooth phone with his arm extended across the path pointing — at what?
some blue jays whispering their screeches
a few narrow streaks of blue river through the thick thatch of green
faint voices of rowers talking below near the boathouse
a runner on the path, accompanied by a young girl on a bike
no memorial flowers at the trestle today
the sweet rot of the sewer near the ravine
the cracks in the asphalt just past the trestle bridge, remembering the peace sign spraypainted at this spot last summer
the satisfying crunch of the sandy gravel under my feet as I ran on the side of the trail up to the greenway
half of the sky was a clear blue, half was convered in feathery clouds
the water was smooth — no chop today!
I couldn’t see the orange buoys at all until I got within 20 or 30 feet of them, but it didn’t matter because I used the silver bottom of the rowboat the guide me
a few silver flashes below me
entering the lake, the water was green at the edges — why was the water green? what does that mean? looked it up and it means there’s lots of algae near the surface
a black (at least it looked black to me) plane flying above the lake
one duck floating near the yellow paddleboats
exiting the lake, a kid calling out to an adult, “why is the water so green today?” “green?” “yeah, green right by the edge.”
very small particles, illuminated by the sun, floating in front of me, being stirred up by the motion of my hand
the far buoys — the orange one near the little beach, the green one near the big beach — were closer to shore than usual, almost right next to the white buoys. I didn’t mind; more of the lake to swim in!
more than 1 dragonfly flying in my face
a car recklessly passing another car on the narrow river road, honking furiously
less wind today — the only wind today was the wind I made moving on my bike
2 birds having an intense exchange of chirps and cheeps — CHEEP! chirp! CHEEP!
my bike rattling as I went over the big cracks that I was unable to avoid
a pair of speedy bikers talking loudly as they passed me — what were they talking about? now I can’t remember
hearing a lifeguard’s voice through the speaker, directing other lifeguards on where to put the orange and green buoys as I neared the beach — I learned today, after overhearing the lifeguards talking to each other, that they direct some of the lifeguards by talking through the speaker and others by taking secretly through walkie talkies
so much more crowded on the way back — lots of bikes and walkers and runners using the bike path instead of the walking trail
biking back from the lake, there were kids at the Nokomis Rec Center for summer camp — my kids did those camps for 8 years. It was awesome
passed a surrey on the path on the rim of Minnehaha Falls park
difficult to see the buoys, especially the far orange one
usually I hardly ever see the color, but today I managed to see orange a few times
more bits of algae in the water, not long strands, but medium-sized chunks, and very small bits
on the way back to the big beach, on the back half of the loop, I always felt a little tired. By the time I reached the big beach, I was energized again
no planes
one bird, bombing through the air — so fast!
no menancing sailboats or what swan paddleboats* or kayaks
heard a few voices once, wondered what was happening
lots of gentle sloshing of water over or beside my ear
back, a little sore; fingers too, and a little numb; no problems with knees or feet or calves or neck!
no fish below me
the orange buoys were in a straight line, the one closest to the little beach wasn’t that close
most of the buoys tethered to torsos were yellow
a flash of green, then a swimmer directly ahead of me, way off course — I had to swing wide to avoid them
another swimmer, pushing me off to the side. I had to stop and swim behind, then around them (this happened at least twice)
the far green buoy was in line with at least two white sailboats, which made it hard to sight
a plane overhead, no blue sky, only clouds
breathed every 5 strokes: 1 2 3 4 5 breathe right 1 2 3 4 5 breathe left
encountered a family of ducks out in the middle of the lake
the water was slightly clearer than on Tuesday, but not as clear as at Cedar Lake. I could watch my hand stretch out in front of me, but only saw dark green below
a park worker in a bright yellow and orange vest, weeding, on a part of the path that was blocked off with orange cones
several walkers on the biking side of the trail
pounding from the construction site across from the DQ that I momentarily thought was my bike pedal doing something weird
wind rushing past my ears
a close encounter with several ducks — under a bridge, as I hugged the far edge of the trail to avoid an approaching pedestrian and biker: ducks, right there!
getting stuck behind 2 slow moving bikes — difficult to pass, difficult to bike slowly enough to not run into them (6 mph?)
behind another slow-moving biker — as they went up or down a hill, they shifted gears with slow, awkward clicks
another biker behind us, too impatient not too pass: “on your left”
the lines on the bike path have been touched up, but the big bump on the trail hasn’t been fixed
road closed sign for july 13th. No, not again!!
a woman’s bright blue suit with a ruffled collar
blindingly bright white swan boat + a woman’s pale legs
another women’s black adn white 2 piece suit (top: black, bottom: white)
a young girl’s pale green board shorts
a small bird, all black
an orange ball
an extra bright yellow bikini top
woman in the water: dark red velvet overalls
boat sail: yellow and red
a lifeguard’s red suit
overheard: a neighbor saying to someone else as she watched me run by, “I’m sweating just watching her run.”
a bike behind me, very slowly approaching. First, a bell, the sound of bike wheels, a little kid talking. Then, a woman with a young kid in a bike trailer, and another little kid on a bike behind her passed by
at least 2 women chatting far behind me — were they on bikes? on foot? how soon would they reach me? Never saw or heard them again
the steady buzzing/thumping of a jack hammer
the coxswain speaking through a bullhorn to her rowers
the rush of wind through the trees sounding like water falling or rushing or being forced out of a hose
the trickle of water out of the sewer pipe near 42nd street
even through all of the clouds, the sun cast shadows of the trees on the sidewalk…a strange, slightly muted, image
looked for my usual view of light and water piercing through the leaves near the tunnel of trees. It’s not there this year — why not? more vegetation? the angle from which I looking?
the little stones I stacked on the ancient boulder yesterday were gone. Did the wind blow them off? Did someone/something knock them over? Were they there and I just didn’t see them?
big, fluffy clouds
chirping, trilling, singing birds!
the smell of pot
rowers on the river, 1 or 2 at a time. One pair was taking it very slow. I watched (and heard) their paddles double-slap the water
protestors on the lake street bridge — no war with Russia
the huge houses on summit ave — thinking about how my grandpa would drive my mom down summit every sunday and dream about having one of these houses
going the wrong way on an overgrown, crater-filled path in Crosby Farm
a plane, very high in the sky, white. With my vision, I first thought it might be the moon. For a few glances, I could see it in my peripheral, but not my central vision. Finally, it appeared.
lots of speedy, e-bikes in the bike lane as we biked back on Summit
a tall, crooked, flagless flagpole at the University Club
a silver flash below me — this has to be fish, right?
one dark plane hovering in the air, hanging in the sky for a long time
nearing an orange buoy, it shifted in the wind and the waves. Hard to get around it.
the green buoy was closer than it often is to the big beach, so was the first orange buoy
clouds, no sun
far off to my right: steady, speedy swimmers, approaching the buoy at a sharp angle
a lifeguard kayaking in just before the beginning of open swim, apologizing for the wait (even though it was just 5:30). My response, “no worries,” and I meant it. The lifeguards really have their shit together this year
wiped out after the 3rd loop, I thought I tucked my cap under the strap of my suit. Nope, it must have fallen in the water. Bummer
lots of muck and sand and a few little bits of vegetation under my suit when I got home and took a shower
feeling both so much love for the lake, the lifeguards, and the other swimmers AND also feeling irritated by and competitive with any swimmers near me.
a few military planes flying above the lake
on the way back to the big beach on the first loop: voices somewhere nearby. I kept trying to figure out what they were. Finally: 2 people in a canoe, way too close to open water swimmers. When I told them they were in the swimming area, one of them said, “we’re trying to get out of here, but this wind is kicking our butt!”
lots of bits of vegetation floating in the water — I had to spit some of it out, other bits of it made it under my suit. I noticed them later, when I took a shower. A few vines wrapped around my arms
with all the waves, lots of swimmers were doing breaststroke or treading water, a few seemed to be almost clinging to the big buoys
I had no problem staying on course. My biggest problem: a nose plug that kept shifting and goggles that kept leaking. I had to stop a few times to adjust them
when the water wasn’t too choppy, I breathed every 5. When it was choppy, every 3 or 4
didn’t see or hear any birds — no seagulls or ducks, in particular
the waves made it difficult to see anything but water in front of you. Sometimes the slight swells looked like someone was right ahead of me — a phantom swimmer?
exiting the water and looking back from the shore, the water looked almost calm to me. You’d never know how choppy it was in there!
a short pedestrian bridge, crossing over a road, at the start of our run
a long pedestrian bridge, arching over a highway
a helmet-less biker, one hand carrying a small cooler
a fast walker
a speedy runner with long, loping limbs
an adult biker, whose on your left from behind sounded like a little kid’s
only one small, empty road to cross
a runner approaching, listening to music — it was either loud music coming out of headphones, or soft music coming from a speaker
2 guys, dressed in business casual, walking on the other side of the trail
the parking lot at the trailhead, which included: a big sign with a map of the trail, 2 bathrooms, a picnic trail tucked behind a tree, lots of lush grass
the light reflecting off of the river, blinding and bright
a male coxswain’s voice drifting up from below
at least 2, maybe 3, big groups of runners
a water station set-up for some event — a marathon training run?
a runner ahead of me in a bright yellow shirt
bikers, but no roller skiers
a little white dog with its human, stopping to poop
a few bugs on my shoulders, but no bites
white flowers under the trestle
something approaching from behind, sounding like a saw. I thought it was an eplitigo, but it was a fat tire, blasting music — was it the music that made it sound like a saw? I couldn’t tell.
a plane moving across the sky, not looking silver but black. At least one more, a few minutes later
some vegetation wrapping around my arm
more vegetation almost making it into my mouth
having more trouble breathing to my left. I wondered what was wrong with my stroke, then I thought it might be that the lake was a bit choppier. Still not sure what it was
feeling tired in the middle of loop 3
at the start, a menacing swan peddle boat crossing the swimming area, blocking my view of the first orange buoy
the last green buoy seeming so far off, never getting closer, always in the distance
I think they’ve adjusted the small orange buoys that mark off the swim area on the right side. They used to be in line with the last buoy, now they’re closer in. Am I imagining that?
the water was opaque — a cloudy light greenish brown*
a lone duck waddling on the beach, looking for food…not from me! I know how bad it is to feed the ducks!
a black plane
a white plane
a few menacing white sailboats, looking too close to the swimming area
a flash of yellow ahead of me: someone’s safety buoy
hardly any people at the beach — too cold? the green blue algae advisory?
clear goggles, a noseplug that didn’t want to stay on (had to stop twice in the middle of the lake to adjust it)
a little choppy on the way back from the little beach to the big beach
spray as my arms entered the water. I noticed it as I turned to breathe
clang clang clang a loud banging over by the menancing swan peddle boats — what were they doing?
breathed every 5, except for when I breathed every 3 or 4
a roller skier, their poles clicking once, then sliding across the asphalt, or skittering across — no, maybe scraping
the shimmering water peeking through a gap in the leaves
a biker listening to something on the radio — a bike race? but not the Tour; that’s over
a newspaper, rolled up and in the bag, on the stones just under the lake street bridge. What was it doing there?
rowers, down below
the wind — shimmering or simmering or sizzling
someone pushing a stroller slowly, someone else pushing a stroller quickly
a tall man with carrying a bag of newspapers on the path, a few blocks from the lake street bridge. Did he deliver the newspaper to the bridge? Why? (see #4)
in the tunnel of trees: a bright orange construction sign, sometimes tipped over, sometimes upright. Placed there about a month ago when they were doing road work above and needed to re-route bikers below. Did they forget about it, or are they leaving it for later, when they’ll need it again?
a biker with their front bike light on, approaching
the river: blue, empty except for a few glittering spots
road work just the end of the lake/marshall bridge: the beep beep beep of a truck backing up and the clunk of some big machine pounding the pavement
graffitti on the backs of some signs — where was that? I can’t recall — probably on marshall
passing a man with a tight hold on the leash of a big dog — he stepped onto the grass to let us pass
a runner who ran in the grass as he approached us
a car in a driveway waiting for a break in the traffic
a little kid on a scooter, about to cross the street with an adult
no one near Black Coffee
stepping into the street to avoid a sprinkler
hot sun but cool shade
a few planes flying above me
the opaque water below me — looking down at the nothingness between breaths
thinking about the other world being underwater and holding my breath creates
having some difficulty breathing to my left — I might be breathing too soon, tried working on waiting a little longer in my stroke to breathe
the lifeguard kayaks were closer into the buoys, the buoys were farther from my favorite landmark: the silver bottom of an overturned rowboat
the green buoy getting lost (at least for me) amongst the while sailboats
one annoying swimmer who was swimming faster than me but managed to time it so they ended up at the buoys at the same time as me and would route me again and again and again (at least 3 times)
feeling warmed up and on auto-pilot by the end of the 3rd loop
thinking my goggles had fogged up for the 4th lap, then realizing when I stopped that it was raining. I hadn’t felt the rain at all in the water
barely underwater, trying to see the raindrops as they broke through the surface. I couldn’t; the water was too cloudy
gushing water out of the sewer pipe below 42nd st
the voices of kids playing on the playgrouds at the church daycare and Dowling Elementary
dripping water from the bluff on the east side of the river
rowers! the coxswain’s voice, 2 shells with 4 rowers each on the river + the boat with the coxswain
climbing the hill near Summit Avenue, almost catching up to the biker ahead of me who seemed to be struggling
beautiful flowers near the monument — can’t remember what kinds or what colors
more views of the blue river on the east side (as opposed to the west side, where I regularly run)
screeching blue jays and squirrels
the small hill just off the ford bridge and down to the river road was dark green and looked mysterious
at the top of the Summit hill on the east side, everything was darker, greener. So dark that the street lamps lining the path were on
choppy water, a gentle rocking
a vee of geese flew high above me
lentil dal yellow water (visibility 1.5 feet)
the sun behind the clouds
breathed every 5, sometimes 6 or 4 or 3
at one point, wondered what it would be like if this big lake was a pool instead. Is there any pool this big anywhere?
no kayaks or swams or paddle boards or other swimmers
saw some white streaks below me a few times — a trick of the light, not fish, I think
felt warmer in the water than out of it
a pain in my neck sometime as I breathed to the right
the cry of a seagull
then, a bunch of seagulls* congregating on the beach
a grayish white sky
the green buoy looked white from a distance and like a sail from a sailboat
setting up the course, the lifeguard directing the other lifeguards on where to place the buoys used the following as points of orientation: the 50th street beach (the little beach), cedar bridge, and wheels of fun. Wheels of fun? I delightedly thought this might be some inside joke until I mentioned it to Scott and he said it was a reference to the bike rental place. I prefer to think of it as an inside joke between lifeguards referring to some place or thing or memory about the lake or guarding it
a few silver flashes below
a vine crossing over my arm
a menancing swan pedal boat in the middle of the course**
feeling buoyant and strong, floating on top of the water
breathing every 5 strokes
swans (boats), off to my right, 2 or 3 in a line, going the same speed as me
later, a lone swan (boat) to my left, right by the far green buoy
a few vines, passing over my arm
the middle green buoy was flopping over to one side — did they forget to inflate it all the way, or does it have a leak?
blue sky with a few streaks of clouds, bright sun
a few birds — seagulls? geese? — above me, their wings spread wide
a military plane, rumbling
extremely cold pockets of water — so cold! It felt like swimming through ice water. Instant goosebumps
felt extra buoyant and high on the water — no problems breathing to my left
on the last loop (I started it at 11:10), I felt like I was the only one in the water. I stopped briefly to check: silence. Such a cool feeling to be out there alone
a metal shovel scraping the bare pavement
a regular I haven’t seen in a while: the woman in a skirt and sandals that I used to see when I ran south last year. Not sure if I ever gave her a name
an older couple with a dog, spread out across the entire walking path
Mr. Morning! — Good morning!
the loud crash of an acorn falling to the ground, then the crack of another as a squirrel opened it
the falls, rushing over the limestone ledge
my shadow, below me in the trees, getting a closer look of the creek below the falls. At one point, she waved to me
the bugs! Just past the south end of the ford bridge, after Locks and Dam no 1, thee’s a field with tall grass and lots of bugs: crickets, cicadas…maybe some frogs too?
no surreys out yet at the falls
a roller skier in the parking lot of locks and dam no 1
the electric buzz of cicadas*
a few fragments of conversation that I can’t remember
an old van, bouncing around on the road, sounding like broken springs on an old mattress
the radio in that same van, playing some music I couldn’t recognize
a chipmunk** chucking or clucking (I like chuck better than cluck)
water sprinkling out of the seeps in the limestone on the eastern side of the gorge, sounding almost like wind through the trees
the rumble of a garbage truck in the alley at the beginning of my run as I made my way to the river
the rowers down below
the quick foot strikes of a runner behind, then beside, then way in front of me
walking back, nearing my block, a mailman speaking to someone in his mail truck: Open the door and then look out to check for cars. Was he training another mailman? That’s my guess
someone singing a strange song as the biked above me
music I couldn’t identify coming from a car’s stereo
the click click click of a roller skier’s poles as they slowly climbed the franklin hill
a brown leather couch parked at the bike rack nearest the trestle — was someone planning to drag it down the steps, either to under the trestle or on white sands beach?
a few slivers of silver river through the trees
a constant low rumble of the city
a small black bug flew in my eye — yuck!
at the bottom of the franklin hill, in the flats, the river was thick and still and covered with a thin layer of scum
down in the flats, in a few spots, the river was still and acted like a mirror, reflecting the sky and the river bank
In one spot, it shimmered silver. Why? It took me a minute to see the 2 rowers, each in their own scull/shell/rowing boat, disrupting the water and making it shimmer
the coxswains, both male and female, calling out to their rowers
a pack of runners taking over the paved path
a dog somewhere down below, near where I was entering the Winchell Trail — I didn’t see them, but heard the pounding of their paws, the jingling of their collar
2 male voice below me — were they on the water in a boat or by the shore? I never found out
the trickle of the sewer pipe at 44th
the blue river — did it sparkle? I can’t remember
hearing the rower below me and trying to find a spot in between trees to see their boats
a leaning tree before 38th
the dirt trail below the mesa is overgrown…at one point, the sunflowers have reclaimed the path
2 people standing by the information sign in the oak savanna, both wearing shorts, looking like they were planning to hike or run
Reaching the bottom of the hill, the water was flat and still. No rowers or waves.
I startled a squirrel as I ran by their hiding place in the brush.
A group of women — I didn’t see them, only heard their voices — climbing the stone steps by the trestle.
A unicycle biking up the steep Franklin hill! I noticed them after the turn-off to go above, so they might have only started there, but I like to imagined this biker biked all the way from the bottom on a unicycle. What a feat!
That same unicycle encountering a skateboarder heading down the hill.
A sewer smell, coming up from the ravine.
Sweat dripping off of my face in big drops.
The buzz of cicadas, the hum of the traffic on the I-94 bridge and the river road
Saying Good morning! in my head to the Welcoming Oaks and out loud to an older jogger.
Noticing the goldenrod lining the path as I walked up the hill.
a stinky sewer smell — not near the ravine, but down in the tunnel of trees
a tower of stacked stones on the ancient boulder
the coxswain instructing the rowers
a rushing sound — either the wind through the leaves or water sprinkling out of the seeps and springs and sewer pipes
so much goldenrod this year! golden yellow flowers everywhere. I wonder if that’s what’s causing Delia the dog’s itchiness?
the leaves are starting to turn, mostly yellow, a few streaks of red
park workers in their orange vests, their truck parked on the path — trimming trees?
such an intense smell of pot as I ran by the lake street bridge porta potty
the smell of cigarette smoke below the franklin st bridge
I think the river was more brown than blue and it was gently moving
2 bikers on the road near the start of my run — 1 adult, 1 kid. My guess: a kid biking to Dowling Elementary School with his dad
running above the oak savanna, a green glow as the sun streamed through the leaves of the trees lining the trail
the ravine near the double bridge looked extra leafy and green
the river, viewed from the ford bridge on the downtown side, was a beautiful blue and empty
the sidewalk at the end of the bridge was under construction. Right now, it’s all dirt
a few kids skating at the new skate park on the land that was the site of the ford plant
the river, viewed from the ford bridge on the locks and dam no. 1 side, was still and high? — I couldn’t quite tell, but it looked like it had partly flooded the small island in the middle
the locks and dam no. 1 is closed — carp invasion, I think. I didn’t see/hear the gushing water down the conrete apron
no turkeys in turkey hollow
no roller skiers or loud birds or darting squirrels or rowers or fat tires
a green glow
slashes of red near my feet
the strong smell of urine at a spot somewhere between the franklin and lake st bridges
a big white tarp next the trash can near the WPA sign and the lake street bridge
more goldenrod
a lone goose up in the sky, honking
an old car, puttering behind me, sounding like a rickity bike. I thought it was a bike, until it passed me
Mr. Unicycle! As I neared the franklin hill, I saw him powering up the hill on his one-wheeled bike
a runner ahead of me, running on the white line that divides the bike and walking paths. 2 fast bikers, speeding down the hill, swerving wide to avoid him
4 or 5 stones stacked on the ancient boulder. The top one bigger than the rest — nice balance!
ran by Bethleham Lutheran and saw a sign for their 100th anniversary — all are welcome!
the sidewalk on 46th near lake street is dug up. I had to run in the street for a block
running past a house, hearing one sharp bark
rowers on the river! one shell, 8 rowers, 2 of them in bright green shirts
a small, bright orange tree
passed 2 women on summit and said, good morning! they replied, morning!
encountered a runner at the bottom of the hill, past shadow falls — she called out, morning, I replied, good morning!
a steady stream of runners climbing the hill near the Monument
the clock at St. Thomas chiming as I neared the bridge — 9:45, maybe?
a car passing by, making some noise — was it the rumbling of their wheels crunching some acorns, or music from their radio? I couldn’t tell
no water in the creek, just rocks
clear, cloudless, bright blue sky
the welcoming oaks are still green and full
a few rips in the veil of green that hides the river below the tunnel of trees
minneapolis parks worker was weedwacking near the lake street bridge. all the goldenrod poking through the rails and leaning over the trail is gone, so are the red leaves
gusts and swells of wind, sounding like water falling from the limestone ledges
evidence: the voice of a kid, then an adult and an empty bike with a kids’ seat in the back parked in the bike rack…assumption: there’s a kid somewhere nearby with his mom exploring the gorge, never verified
passing a man with a “sporty” walker (its wheels looked like they were more rugged and ready to go fast) just before getting to the franklin bridge
greeted Dave, the Daily Walker and Mr. Morning! Also passed a guy that I’m pretty sure used to walk on the track at the YWCA everytime I ran there. I think I’ll call him, Mr. Y
water (not wind, I think?) falling off the ledge near the Meeker Dog Park — is there a way to get to this seep/falls?
a bright red tree just below the railing at my favorite viewing spot above the lake street bridge
the river! blue with slight ripples from the wind that were moving towards the middle of the river, streaks — from the sandbars? — were visible too. At the overlook, a little over halfway across, the river was split in 2. One side was sparkling and shimmering from the sun, the other side was almost flat. Up above, the sky was streaked with shreds of clouds; it looked almost like a mirror of the ripples in the water
the faint outline of the moon
the dribble dribble sound of water trickling down the limestone in the park
the recently re-paved (2 or 3 years ago?) path below the mustache bridge is already puckering in places — what causes that?
a woman speaking to another woman while walking near the falls, It’s beautiful! She’s lucky to live here.
more slashes of red and orange, no slashes of yellow — yellow comes in splotches, not slashes, I think
the smallest sliver of sparkling river through the trees
all the benches were empty
lots of construction sounds on edmund, near Dowling Elementary — jack hammers, rumbling bobcats
the smell of cigar smoke as I neared the bottom of the marshall hill
a group of 5 or 6 spectators on the bridge watching the rowers below
stopped at the light at cretin, waiting for it to turn green again, shifting my weight from foot to foot
running by where choo choo bob’s used to be, and where FWA had his 3rd birthday party, and wondering if it was still there (looked it up, it’s not)
2 big stone lions guarding the front of the big house on summit
the sound of a siren, 2 women waiting on a corner, one of them complaining, this took forever, then hearing her say, you guys took over 40 minutes! I didn’t see an injured person or any sign of something wrong. What happened? Who was hurt? Where would the women lead them?
screeching blue jays
near the top of the hill, close to the entrance to the shadow falls trail, a speedy bike whipped around the corner
a walker ahead of me swinging her arms widely from side to side
hearing the rowers through the trees as I ran above the river on the west side
Orange everywhere! Not the kind that’s almost red, but the soft neon, almost like orange sherbet
No rowers on the river, no roller skiers on the path, one fast-moving rollerblader
A single goose honking, somewhere in the sky
mostly cloudy with the sun sometimes peeking through the clouds
long shadows cast by the trees on the east river side, near the overlook closest to the ford bridge
a stretch on the east side of the river with no trees — no shade, nothing to frame the wide open sky, strangely bare
the sound of jack hammers
2 bikers at the top of Summit, just past the monument. One said to the other, “This is the only tricky (or did he tough?) part of the route”
a bike darted past me on the ford bridge then turned into a small overlook. No! I wanted to stop there to admire the leaves! Then, before I reached the overlook, hopped on their bike and pedaled away. Hooray!
the short path that you cut down after exiting the ford bridge to get to the river road was the ideal form of Fall — all oranges, a few yellows, a winding path, mysterious woods
a peleton of younger bikers on the road
a string of older bikers on the trail
a biker swinging wide to mount their bike just as I ran by
a dog barking at me as I swung wide to avoid them and their owner
bright yellow vests
a tree leaning over the dirt trail, which used to be asphalt, just past the 38th street steps
two voices behind me, getting closer when I stopped to speak into my phone
a woman with a dog passing by me X 2
dripping water at the 42nd street sewer pipe
the leaves on the edge of the gorge, down near the ground, look a bright glowing orange instead of their usual red. Not sure if that’s true, or just my bad vision
a view is coming! the trees are thinning in a stretch somewhere between 38th and 42nd and I could see the blue of the river below
between the double-bridge and the locks and dam no. 1: a row of bushes, still thick with leaves, blocking my view of the river. The light flashing through the small gaps disorients
seeing these flashes, wondering if I should tilt my hat to shield my eyes, a peleton passes by on the road
at the falls, several of the sidewalks are covered in fallen leaves
the trail is peppered with bright reds, yellows, oranges
many of the trees at the falls have changed from green to gold and red, but a cluster (a stand?) of 4 or 5 are still green
running above the gorge, parallel to Hiawatha, sirens — what happened and where?
a bright red tree, glowing with color, way over in the neighborhood on the other side of Hiawatha
the sandy beach at Hidden Falls almost glowing white through the trees
the falls, dry — not a drop of creek water falling down the limestone
someone blasting music (rock? pop?) from their car on Hiawatha. So loud!
bing bing the fake bells of the train ringing as it pulls out of the 50th street station
Santa Claus running fast!
10 Things I Noticed
2 rowing shells on the river
a woman on the bridge taking a picture of the view
crowded paths near St. Thomas
several bright red trees
the click click clack of a roller skier’s poles
red leaves on the sidewalk fading into pink
the smell of breakfast near Black Coffee — hash browns, toast, bacon, grease
the bells chiming — maybe it was 10? — at St. Thomas
the coxswain’s voice drifting up from below
waiting at Cretin (on Summit) for the light to change, when it did and I started running again, I heard the footsteps of another runner behind me. Would they pass me or fade away? They faded away
Was mornied! by Mr. Morning! I had run past him — only seeing him from behind and not noticing it was him — and he called out. I turned back and called out good morning!
Greeted Dave, the Daily Walker.
Ran past Daddy Long Legs.
a woman walking briskly, wearing a turquoise fleece, talking with
another woman, together they approached me from behind as I walked up the franklin hill. Their voices hovered, growing louder as they neared
a runner dressed in black — first far behind me, then closer, then past me, then far ahead
a person sitting on a bench perched on the rim of the bluff
an older man and woman walking — I think I regularly encounter them? Can’t remember what the woman looks like, but the man is tall, thin, and white with white hair
a roller skier, roller skiing in the flats
a biker blasting music — I couldn’t hear it because I had my headphones in
the smell of smoke near the one house that always smells like smoke in the winter — on Edmund, close to Dowling
SO LOUD! passing by 2 trucks, about 50 feet from each other, running some sort of machine that was way too loud. I didn’t see, but I hope that the workers nearby were wearing headphones or ear plugs. Wow. I don’t think it was a cement mixer, but I’m not what else it could be — lots of rumbles and roars. Very unsettling
freshly redone sidewalk squares, bright white, sticking out against the old, gray squares
running on the dirt trail between edmund and the river road: a mix of roots and dead leaves and dry dirt
a woman, a kid, a wagon — I think it was red? — heading down to the Winchell Trail at 44th
passing a walker on the “gauntlet” — the dirt/grass patch between the lower campus of Minnehaha Academy and Becketwood that narrows near the road
another loud noise: a rumbling motorcycle overhead, traveling across the ford bridge
a man in a bright yellow shirt, sitting on a bench near a rock above the river
a group of four walkers, one of them wearing a white shirt and black pants, not taking up the entire path
what I didn’t notice: I don’t remember running down the small hill to the part of the trail that dips below the road then climbs back out. As I ran over it again, on my way back, I wondered, what was I doing when I was running on this before? how come I can’t remember anything about it? A moment lost. Love it when that happens
the very loud vehicle I mentioned a few entries ago is still on edmund. I have decided it is a cement mixture. Today I was over on the river road trail; it was still so loud!
the pavement is wet with a few streaks of mud and lots of yellow leaves
kids yelling joyfully on the playground at dowling elementary
a runner coming fast down the hill from the ford bridge ran past me, quickly gaining ground, eventually disappearing around the bend
the whiny whirr of the park vehicle’s wheels. I can’t remember now what I first thought the sound was — someone/something crying?
a man in yellow jacket, exiting his car, waiting for me to pass before crossing the sidewalk
Mr Morning! mornied me. For the first time, I said hello instead of good morning. Not sure why
some bikers crossing in front of me near the minnehaha park playground
a bright orange sign warning that the road would be closed this saturday for an event: it’s the 1/2 marathon for the halloween race. Scott and I are running the 10k
no turkeys or geese or woodpeckers
the boulevard on the other side of the east river road is extra wide, with an island of green grass on either side of the sidewalk
a duet: chirping bird and whirring leaf blower
at the entrance to shadow falls, at the top of the hill, they’ve put in 4 stone cubes — for sitting and blocking cars, I guess
a white plane up above, flying straight and parallel to the ground
the newly re-paved road, near the overlook just before the ford bridge, looked so smooth and perfect. It almost glowed
very windy on the ford bridge
looking down from the ford bridge, I noticed a white buoy bobbing in the water
at the locks and dam no. 1, a runner passed me. She was short and fast
running past Sunny Montessori, I heard a young child crying
after I finished my run, walking back on a street that doesn’t quite line up from block to block, I looked ahead. In the center of my vision, I could see a bright white dot, then everything around it — the trees, sidewalk, houses — was in blur. I’m not sure, but I imagine people with better vision see this view the same way I do. The white dot at the end of 2 blocks is part of a fence
running across lake street bridge, looking over the railing, I saw an 8-person shell heading south. I stopped briefly to admire it
the river was smooth and dark blue and beautiful
graffiti below the bridge on the st paul side
running by the former Izzy’s ice cream, where FWA and RJP shared a birthday party, I noticed a wooden shelf jutting out of a window — was this the takeout window?
a big apartment building with huge windows near the door stretching multiple floors—I think I remember seeing a big gold chandelier
a big fancy house on Summit with stone pineapples at the end of the driveway
the hill on marshall: steepest at the beginning, then much more gradual until it kicks up a little between prior and fairview
the bells at st. thomas were ringing
reaching the river, running up the hill near Summit, hearing voices behind me — runners, I think. One of them encouraging another to go! go! go! Were they going faster than me? No. Either they turned off or were slower
more shells on the river. I could hear a male coxswain instructing the rowers. Also heard people cheering for the 1/2 marathon races on the west side
there was a slight haze in the air, everything dreamy and soft. I think the sun was burning off some early morning fog?
a runner approaching me during the start of my run was listening to music without headphones. At first I thought it was some strange chant, but later, as I continued to hear it across the ravine, it sounded vaguely like some pop song I’ve heard before
running over the franklin bridge, I marveled at the river. A shimmering arrow of light was pointing downstream on its surface. Other than the light, the river was empty. No rowers
running back over the lake street bridge I could see the sun shining off some parked cars on the west river road, no longer hidden from view by leaves
the Welcoming Oaks are bare
all the construction is done over on the east side of the river near franklin
the steady beat of approaching feet from behind, then passing me. I called out good morning and he replied, morning.
encountering 2 walkers. The woman called out good morning! It always seems to be the women who add the good to their morning greetings
on the edge of the gorge, near the meeker island dog park, I could hear a rushing sound. Was it wind in the trees or water dropping out of the sewer or from an underground creek? I decided it was water
the green city sign near the franklin bridge that directs drivers up the hill to franklin avenue was spray painted with white words. I think it might have said Boo?
My shadow joined me today, running just ahead as we headed north. No faint trace, but a dark and defined form
A woman in a blue and green suit with booties, then flippers, on, swimming breaststroke, backstroke, and freestyle. Older, I think, and a good, strong swimmer
An older man in a speedo on the other side of me, swimming freestyle and breaststroke
A man in black board shorts swimming along the bottom, then running — was he injured?
the colored tiles on the bottom of the pool looked extra blue
a few white tiles had some stuff on them — chipped? mildew?
at the end of the lane, the wall is marked with a giant plus sign — I think of it as black, but it is probably blue to match the tiles. I had no problem seeing it
I struggled to see if there were any swimmers in the water when I was picking my lane — is that an elbow, or just a trick of the light?
everything I lifted my head (still practicing sighting every so often), I saw orange. Where was the orange coming from?
as my arms entered the water and my body rotated slightly, I felt like a boat with my feet as rudders
glanced down at the big drains on the bottom of the pool and thought about Jaws and the great opening chapter I just read a few months ago (The Swimmers)
gushing water from the sewer pipe at 42nd st
trickling water at the falls
most of the leaves are off the trees, the ones that remain are burnt orange
other colors: blue-gray asphalt at minnehaha park, green grass, my bright orange sweatshirt
a runner in a light colored shirt passed me going fast under the ford bridge. I enjoyed watching his bobbing shoulders bounce off into the distance for the next 5 minutes
almost empty parking lots at the falls, a few groups of walkers
the beep beep beep of a car alarm from a car being towed through the roundabout near the falls
even though it was a little dark and gloomy, few cars had on their lights
the river was half light, half dark
a elementary school class visiting the ravine, a line of them stretching across the sidewalk. I found a big gap and tried to quickly pass through. Some kids sprinted, trying to catch me or run into me (they didn’t)
A runner passing me wearing an orange shirt that lost its glow in the gloom of the gorge
A walker wearing bright yellow (like me)
A roller skier climbing the Franklin hill. I don’t remember hearing any poles clicking or clacking or scraping
Unlike yesterday, the cars on the river road had their headlights on
Passing under the bridge at the bottom of the hill, I noticed a big blue circle on the ground with the numbers “94” on it. Interstate 94. Maybe now I will always remember that this bridge is 94, and the bridge near downtown is 35?
Running north above the gorge, from the left (closer to the road) the wind was blasting very warm air, from the right (near the gorge) the wind was blasting cold air. Overdressed in long sleeves, I preferred the cold
A bird flying up above me. Every time I tried to see it straight on, it disappeared. I could only see it off to the side
I don’t think I looked at the river once, even when I was right by it below Franklin
The pavement is wet, the dirt trails soft and muddy
a big truck with a chain track like a tank instead of wheels on the road near the Danish Center — why was it there?
green grass, green stoplight
red stop sign, red stop lights
yellow stop light, yellow leaves
rusty brownish red stain on the lake st bridge
blueish water
pinkish, purplish jacket on a walker
orange traffic cone
brown dirt
white patches of snow in the corners of the sidewalk
my black running tights
the slight burn of chlorine in my nose
a few more bits of something on the bottom of the pool — was it more, or was it just because I was swimming in a different lane? were these bits moving, or was that a trick of the light or my eyes?
the older woman to my right, swimming breaststroke — slow, steady, graceful frog kicks
the older woman to my left, swimming sidestroke — more grace and the calm, slow sweep of arms through the water
this sidestroking woman was wearing a wonderful bathing suit — all black in the back, in the front: black at the bottom with red or pink or orange horizontal panels up above
“racing” a guy 2 lanes over, swimming freestyle at about the same speed as me, until he stopped and I kept going
a regular — the older, trim woman in the pale blue and green suit whose stroke is strong and fast, and who sometimes wears fins or booties
the feeling of orange everywhere up above, blue below
my foot (the right one?) feeling a little strange near the end, not quite numb but like it might cramp up (it didn’t)
arriving, a crowded pool, everyone sharing lanes. A few minutes later, it began to empty. By the time I was done, only 2 people left
the river, 1: running on franklin bridge the river was a clear blueish gray, no ice yet
snow was covering the north face of an ancient boulder on the east side of the river
random goose honks throughout the run, usually a lone goose flying low
the sky was a pale blue, the gorge was giving off a blue-gray hue
the only other colors: brown, white, a runner’s orange jacket, another runner’s pink one
the river, 2: standing above the lake street bridge at my favorite spot on the east side I admired the open river, stretching wide, looking calm
the river, 3: off in the distance the water glowed, burning a silver fire — not white, or any color, just shimmering light
the river, 4: from the lake street bridge the river was studded with ice
a voice on a hill on Edmund: a kid going sledding
ending the run and crossing over to the boulevard the snow crunched in an unusual way. It sounded almost like the crinkle in a dog toy, or like I had some brittle paper stuck on my shoe
a few more things on the ground, at least one stringy thing floating in the matter — I was in a different lane, so that might it explain why there were more things. It could also be that it’s time for them to clean the pool again
no chlorine stings
crowded — most lanes had 2 people
the woman sharing the lane with me was a great swimmer. I liked watching her freestyle as I approached her, and the way she shot off the wall
2 Regulars — Mr. Speedo, the older white man who is lanky and probably has been swimming for 1/2 a century, and who wears a dark speedo and the oldish white woman in the pale blue and green suit who sometimes wears fins or booties on her feet, mitts on her hands. Today, after about 30 minutes in the water, she started swimming butterfly. It might be a stretch, but I think I’ll call her Miss Luna after the luna moth which is pale green — this luna moth is not a butterfly, but people often mistake it for one
predominant color I noticed again: orange. I think a lot of the orange I see are the small sandwich board signs that are orange and read, caution wet floor, or someting like that
looking straight ahead through the cloudy water, I could just barely see my lane partner approaching. She was in a solid dark suit and was streamlined, making me think of a small shark — surprisingly, this didn’t make me nervous
at one point, Miss Luna and the shark were swimming at the same speed, on either side of me. It was fun speeding through the two of them — like what, a rocket?
one distinctive noise — the squeak of my nose because my nose plug was not on properly
2 older women in the locker room discussing the big snow storm in upstate New York. 2 things in particular I remember: first, that the football had to be moved somewhere else and two, about how after a big storm there are always tons of pictures on social media of people who are stuck and can’t open their front doors
the yellow dotted lines on the bike trail
the orange spray paint around the cracks that need to be replaced
a pale blue sky
a dark blue trash can
the dark gray pavement that seemed to have a hint of blue
the silver river — or was it white gold? through the trees, the river burned a bright white
beige or sepia-toned ice on the river
the grayish-dark brown of the bare trees
the slab of white snow decorating one side of the ancient boulder
the dark greenish-gray of a fir tree
the strong smell of pot as I passed a car in the 36th st parking lot
a guy walking, listening to music without headphones — can’t remember what kind of music it was. Passed him twice
a woman and a kid walking above the falls, admiring it at my favorite spot
bright orange below the double bridge — somebody must have spray painted it
a lone walker below me on the Winchell Trail
Later, 2 laughing women on the Winchell Trail
the river was burning white again — shimmering in the sun through the trees
running past the southern entrance to the Winchell Trail, I could see through the bare trees all the way to the stone wall that wrapped around the grassy overlook
also had a clear view of the oak savanna and the mesa through the leafless trees
a loud scraping noise from some part of a car, dragging on the road
my shadow, running beside me — strong in form and definition, a very dark gray in color
a pale blue sky — not an intense BLUE! sky, more like the hint of blue, like if someone had taken a black and white photo of the gorge and painted in a blue sky
lots of dry, brittle leaves swirling in the wind. Running by the double bridge to the north, I watched something dark fly through the fence then back again. A bug? A bird? No, a dead leaf
Later on, I saw a few birds flying very fast across the path in front of me. They added to the chaos of the blustery wind and the swirling leaves
2 other runners, one near the trestle, the other further south
a few walkers — any dogs? I don’t think so
a group, some kids and adults, spread across the entire path, getting ready to go sledding down by the river
remember to look at the river. A strange illusion. It was a dark, dark gray with a hint of brown and it looked like a wall. Instead of stretching flat on the gorge floor, it looked like it rose out of it, up towards the other bank. I’ve written about this wall of water in past winters
the path was covered in mostly packed snow. The sun illuminated some of the slicker spots
smelled a burnt something — I think I might have seen bits of rubber on the side of the road
a truck with a plow, clearing the parking lot above the tunnel of trees
a honking goose, its mournful cry amplified by the bridge
a big bird flying above. I think it was a crane
a runner in an orange shirt, running with a dog
another runner — tall, wearing a white sweatshirt and shorts, moving fast, with long, bouncing strides
passing Dave, the Daily Walker: Good Morning, Dave!
a group of young people, high school or college students?, hanging out by the franklin bridge, blocking the path
no sun, but not gloomy, a grayish-white sky. everything bright but with very little color
the river! down at the start of the flats, the river was gray and half-frozen. Not flat or dull but interesting. Not gloomy either, but vast and quiet. Not desolate, but detached, otherworldly
a car, I think it was a Prius, whooshing through a stretch of the road that was part snow, part bare pavement, then suddenly turning silent as it reached a part of the road that was all soft snow. So strange to watch it move without sound
Climbing the franklin hill, encountering a line of cars with their headlights on, crawling down the hill
the faint trace, in light gray, of my shadow ahead of me
a group of walkers, paused by the sign for the bike surreys at the falls
another group of walkers near locks and dam #1. Heard one of them say, “The farmer had to fish her out of the river.”
a guy and an exuberant dog by the Longfellow poem at the park
the speedy runner I mentioned above
the biker who almost fell
someone on a fat tire
kids at the school playground across the street, more subdued than usual, but still laughing and yelling
a guy blasting his phone or radio as he walked. I think he was listening to music, but I can’t remember what kind
a runner in a bright blue jacket, over on the trail, when I was on edmund. we ran parallel for a few minutes then he inched ahead
a runner carefully crossing over some ice as she talked on a bluetooth phone to someone
the river: mostly frozen over with a thin skin of ice. Where the ice was thinner, it looked gray, thicker white
a strange back-up on the franklin bridge. not sure what was happening. Cars were stopped, one was diagonal. No evidence of a collision. Heard some honking after I passed it
a man walking 3, or was it 4?, dogs
at least one bike
saw my shadow off to the side, dark-ish gray
colors: a lot of gray, pale blue sky, an orange cone, my pink jacket and gloves, red stop sign, sepia-toned ice, yellow dividing line on the bike path, yellow truck
the air was cold as I breathed it in
the biking path on the east side of the river, mostly clear
some loud thuds — from the construction being done on a house across from the river?
the sharp, whining whirr of a drill, or some other tool, being used by a road worker in a yellow vest in a hole in the street
lifting my knees as I powered up the last hill
smoke from a chimney as I ran by a house on edmund– in the same spot, all winter, every winter
a strange whirring or dripping or buzzing sound coming from “Carly’s house” (or, as RJP pronounces it, Kerler’s house) — named after RJP’s classmate, Carly, who lives there
a frozen falls
2 women hardly moving over at all on the path. I almost brushed elbows with one of the women, even as I tried to go as close to the edge I could, which prompted me to mutter, fuck, under my breath after I passed her
the tinny recording of the bells of the light rail car leaving the 50th street station
near the end I felt wetness on my face — sleet? rain? snow?
2 runners approaching from behind, one of them talking about planting seeds, I think?
someone walking through turkey hollow, everything white and covered with snow
heading back, running on edmund, I noticed a runner over on the river road running slightly faster than me. Suddenly I heard someone yell out to them — another runner who knew them was greeting them enthusiastically (I think?)
finishing up my run, crossing 46th avenue, I heard some people greeting each other at the mailbox — Merry Christmas!
Miss Luna came about 20 minutes into my swim
my nose plug kept shifting and I had to stop a few times to adjust it. I didn’t feel any water coming in my nose, but I could feel my air coming out
after the first few flip turns, my nose burned from the chlorine
looking straight ahead underwater, I watched as my hands made bubbles as they entered the water
the woman one lane over was swimming breaststroke, her frog kick looked extra froggy
a man in black swim trunks was walking the length of the pool by the far wall. Why?
looking up, I noticed someone at the end of my lane. She asked to share a lane. Sure! I think I might have said yep too.
the woman sharing my lane kicked a lot as she swam freestyle. I saw, but didn’t feel, the water churning as I swam past
turning on the wall, pushing off, looking ahead and noticing the bubbles of my lane partner, and thinking about how I was gaining on her*
orange: my orange bag, the orange sign saying No lifeguard on duty, Scott’s orange swimming trunks
on the west side, the river was a dark gray
on the east side, the river looked more grayish-brown
hardly any color, almost everything gray, a few dead leaves in orangish-brownish-gold
one panel of the black steel fence on the east side of the river is slightly bent and bows in the center
several times dark, hulking shapes out of the corner looked like people approaching. They were trees
tried to sync up my steps with a car horn that was honking repeatedly
the wind was swirling, sometimes in my face, sometimes my back, helping me to run faster
heard some dripping under the lake street bridge on the east side
saw a tarp or a blanket on the ground under the lake street bridge on the west side
noticed lots of leaves skittering across the snow, being pushed around by the wind
the water was a little cloudy
the guy next to me (the one who raced me) started by walking down his lane to the edge of the deep end
this same guy hardly kicked at all, as far as I could see. Was he using a pull buoy?
during my start ritual — pushing off and swimming underwater until I reach the blue line right before the deep end — I swam just above the bottom. I watched the blue tiles, 6 across, as I kicked my legs and tried to squeeze by outstretched arms to my ears
lifting my head out of the water and seeing orange
the red racing suit of a woman in the hot tub — not lifeguard red, darker and deeper than that
my nose squeaking because my nose plug had shifted
the water being churned up by a woman next to me as she did a fast 50
almost every time I raised my eyes out of the water to see if Scott was there, or someone else who wanted to split a lane, I mistook my blue towel for a woman in a blue bathing suit
the flip turn of the woman next to me, especially the phase of it when she was on er back, before the pushed off and twisted around
the creek was flowing and the falls were falling, making a delightful rushing sound
when I stopped just before my favorite spot (because a couple and a kid were already at my spot), I could hear the falls as they fell. When I looked, all I could see was one white tree after the next
the trail was not too slippery, but slippery enough to make my legs work harder
I think it was between locks and dam #1 and the double bridge — as a car passed me , I smelled hot chocolate. did it come from the car, or was that just a coincidence?
on the way back, stopped to walk on side of the double bridge that doesn’t get plowed in the winter. I looked down into the white ravine as I trudged through the snow
glancing at the river through the trees, something about all the white in the trees, the light, and my vision made the river look like it was sepia-toned
nearing the ford bridge, looking ahead, I noticed something that looked like an animal. I couldn’t see an owner and wondered if it was a coyote and not a dog. As I got a little closer I realized it was a person wearing a shirt so light — pale blue? gray? white? — that it blended into the sky. The dark I had seen was their pants. This is not the first time this has happened to me
running by some steps saw the briefest flash of orange — must be a sign warning people not to enter, I guessed
one car crawling along the river road, the line of cars growing behind it
a runner in a bright orange stocking cap and bright yellow jacket
checked out the river at the trestle: all frozen, white and gray, solid, stiff
the steady crunch crunch crunch of my yaktrax on the cold powder
solid chunks of ice littering the path, not boulders, but big enough to hurt my foot or twist my ankle if I ran into or over them
a skein of geese! first I heard their honks, then I stopped to watch them fly across the sky
the roar of a plane
the shadow of a big bird
one other runner, one or two walkers, no dogs, no fat tires, no roller skiers
two walkers below me, walking through the tunnel of trees
a snow blower up above, near longfellow grill
the path was slick and slippery with stripes of ice glowing in the sun
a male runner in shorts with bare legs
the sun came out by the time I reached the falls
minnehaha creek just before the falls was completely covered in white
a dry leaf skittering across the snow-covered path. no sound, only movement — sharp, brittle, frantic
the smell of smoke in the usual spot
kids’ voices, laughing and yelling as they sled down the hill between wabun and the falls
my shadow running next to me
a fat tire approaching the river road trail, then carefully crossing over the hard chunks of snow and ice as it entered the trail
a black capped chickadee with a strange call — not the fee bee call and not chickadeedeedee. Do they have a different winter call?
a pileated woodpecker calling out in response, and another bird that I can’t identify