4.25 miles
minnehaha falls and back
27 degrees
0% snow-covered
All of the snow — well, all of the snow on the road + trail + sidewalk — melted while I was gone for Christmas. Even though we got back in the afternoon, and I was hungry, I decided I couldn’t not got out and take advantage of bare trails, something that happens so infrequently in the winter. I ran to the falls and tried to notice them as I ran by. I can’t remember hearing them, but I saw the water flowing freely.
Running above, I studied the Winchell Trail below. Between 28th and 42nd, it was covered in ice and empty of walkers. From 42nd to the southern start, there were several groups of people on it. I couldn’t see if it was clear or covered. Near the double-bridge, I heard a kid laughing somewhere nearby.
For Christmas, I got several books: Lydia Davis’ ESSAYS One; Alice Oswald’s Dart; Maggie Smith’s Goldenrod; and Arthur Sze’s The Glass Constellation. I’m trying to not get as many physical books these days because of my declining vision, unless I know I’ll read and refer back to them a lot. I’m very excited about all of these! Here’s a poem from Arthur Sze:
Eye Exam/ Arthur Sze
E D F C Z P
his eyesight is tethered to shore —
no sign of zebras
but spotted towhees repair their nest;
before the ditch is cleared,
plum trees are blossoming along a riparian bank —
he pauses at the gaps between letters,
notices how his mind has an urge to wander,
how it resists being tethered to question and quick reply —
yellow daffodils are rising in the yard;
behind his eyelids,
a surge of aquamarine water is breaking to shore:
they are stretching,
they are contorting into bliss —
and as the opthamologist
rotates lenses, “Is it clearer with 1 or 2?”
he sees how this moment is lens, mirror, spring,
and how, “1,”
D E F P O T E C
sharpens his vision to this O, the earth
I have thought of writing a poem about this “better with 1 or 2” exam. So many questions, so hard to determine which is better, which is worse. For now, glasses still help a little with my non-cone dystrophy problem: near-sightedness. But standard eye exams seem almost pointless for me. I can read small things when I’m given as much time as I need. If I have to read it quickly, I can’t. Which lens, 1 or 2, makes my ability to focus fast better?
I want to spend some more time with this poem to reflect on its meaning. Are the zebras and towhees referencing letters in a way that I’m missing? This idea of sharpened vision tethering one to earth makes me think of how untethered I often feel out in the world, with everything unfocused, fuzzy, soft. Are there other ways to be tethered that don’t require clear vision? Yes, but they aren’t often recognized, represented. Are they in this poem?