A one-way run. Thought I could avoid it, but ran straight into the wind for at least 1/2 of it. A little too warm. Tough on sore legs. Surprisingly, not too crowded for a mild Saturday. Did I see my shadow briefly? I think so. Noticed a seep frozen over in the flats, below the west bank of the U. I have been reading about springs and seeps and how they are much easier to spot in the winter because the water freezes, sometimes creating icy ledges/boulders and ice pillars. Never knew it before but people like to climb this ice. Not me, but I’d love to see other people doing it. Spied 2 roller skiers. Encountered several runners running up the Franklin hill while I was running down it. Ran more of the I-35 hill than I thought I could. Walked the rest. Felt strong and refreshed at the top, running down past the Guthrie and Mill City Museum. Scott passed in front of me, running from the other direction. Even after I yelled his name several times he didn’t hear me, so I had to chase him up a short, steep hill.
Currently I have too many ideas to write about. Thinking about the wild, being bewildered, ways in and ways out, layers, inside/outside/periphery. All of this related to the river gorge and park management and running on the west river parkway.
On Friday, went to the South High Choir concert to hear my daughter’s middle-school choir sing with the high school choirs. Wonderful. I love the choir director at South. She gave the students 4 goals: 1. Breathe, 2. Listen, 3. Move somebody and 4. Have fun. These goals are great. I’d like to mash them up with Mary Oliver’s: 1. Pay Attention, 2. Be Astonished, 3. Tell About it.
- Pay Attention
- Be Astonished
- Tell About it
- Move Somebody
Lemony Snicket collected some poems for Poetry Foundation that were not written for children but that children might like: All Good Slides are Slippery. Here’s the intro, which focuses on doors. I’m thinking about this as I ponder “the way in”:
“Knocks on the door”
Knocks on the door.
I sweep the dust of my loneliness
under the rug.
I arrange a smile
— Maram al-Massri
tr. by Khaled Mattawa
An open door says, “Come in.”
A shut door says, “Who are you?”
Shadows and ghosts go through shut doors.
If a door is shut and you want it shut,
why open it?
If a door is open and you want it open,
why shut it?
Doors forget but only doors know what it is
— Carl Sandburg
Starting to read something, such as a portfolio, is like opening a door, so I thought it would be interesting to start with two poems about doors written by two very different poets. Maram al-Massri is a Syrian woman who now lives in the city of Paris, France. Carl Sandburg is an American man who doesn’t live anywhere, due to death.