mississippi river road path, south/north
8 degrees/feels like 8
99% uneven, sharp, crusty snow-covered
Checked the weather before leaving and noticed that the actual temperature was the same as the feels like temp so no metaphors or similes or approximations today. Just the Is or the It or the This or whatever you want to call it. Is this possible? Hard to find meaning without metaphor.
- Running south, everything was sharp and crisp and brittle. Sounds were louder and harder and traveled farther. The crunch of my foot was a quick snap. I could hear the kids yelling and laughing at the school from several blocks away. The cars were rushing loudly.
- Running north, it was much quieter. Muted. Soft. I didn’t hear the kids until I was right on the other side of the road from them. I hardly heard the cars.
- Was there something about the quality of the air–how cold it was, how humid–that made the sound travel the way it did?
- The sun was very bright. I could see my shadow.
- The path was covered with crusty, uneven snow which was difficult to run on.
- At first, it was very cold. Slowly I warmed up. The last part of me to not be cold were my fingers. By mile 3, I had folded my gloves over so they were only on my knuckles and the tips of my fingers.
- I didn’t encounter any walkers or bikers and only 2 runners.
- The river was completely covered over with snow. No open water.
- I looked for the lone glove left by the side of the path. It’s gone. I wonder what happened to it?
Running back north, I realized I was on the marathon route. Next October, I will be running this stretch around mile 16. I thought about that and how I wanted to remember what it looked like now in the middle of the winter, with the snow piled up on the side of the path, on the trees, on the trashcans. The river, covered. The path emptied of people. Will I be able to remember? Also gave future Sara a pep talk.
This was a wonderful run. It was cold and the path was too icy and uneven, but I loved being out there today. Tomorrow it is supposed to snow, maybe as much as 6 inches. Then more this weekend. Thinking about snow, I found a snippet of a poem in my notebook from last year:
Kinds of Snow/Su Smallen
There is snow that falls separate from the sky, and snow
that is the sky itself falling, the sky itself reaching down to us…