3 miles
trestle turn around
34 degrees
A dusting of snow on the ground, flurries in the air. Gloomy–not gray but white. Yellow and brown on the ground. Swirling wind. Not a bad run. Heard a roller skier slowly approaching me for a few minutes. Click clack click clack. Encountered some other runners. No fat tires or Daily Walker. Lots of cars on the road for a Saturday. Don’t remember looking at the river at all, but I must have. Didn’t I?
Earlier this morning, while reading a review on LitHub, I encountered this phrase:
…whose apertures present as door and window offering a way ‘in’ to language.
This got me thinking more about ways in and aperture as opening, hole, gap. What are some ways in? Doors, windows, fissures, gaps, cracks, seeps, leaks, holes, openings, breaches, chasms, chinks, gashes, gaps, vents, slots, slits, passages, crevices, mouths, orifices, ruptures, rifts, gates, gateways, portals, entryways. These things offer entry but they also offer escape, ways out. Reviewing one of older notebooks, I found these lines from a Jenny Xie poem:
My father taught me wherever you are,
“Zuihitsu” from Eye Level, jenny xie
always be looking for way out: this opening
or that one, or a question sharp enough
to slice a hole for you to slip through.
A way in is also a way out, an entrance is an escape, a window a portal. A few more random bits about ways in, ways out:
I learned from Whitman that the poem is a temple–or a green field–a place to enter, and in which to feel.
Upstream/mary oliver
Sometimes the way to milk and honey is through the body.
Rounding the Human Corners/linda hogan
Sometimes the way in is a song.
But there are three ways in the world: dangerous, wounding,
and beauty.
To enter stone, be water.
To rise through hard earth, be plant
desiring sunlight, believing in water.
To enter fire, be dry.
To enter life, be food.