Veterans’ Home Loop
A bright beautiful morning for a run. Ran south to Minnehaha regional park, past John Steven’s House, over to the Veteran’s Home, through Wabun, then back north on the river road trail.
10 Things I Noticed
- 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
At least twice in the past week, when I’ve been running south on the river road trail, this has happened: I see a runner approaching from a distance. As I get closer, I check to see where they are, but they’ve disappeared. I can’t see them at all. I look again and they’re back. I must be losing more cone cells.
It didn’t last for a long, but I tried chanting in triple berries (strawberry/blueberry/raspberry), then counted my rhythms: 123/45 and 12/345. I tried matching a few words to the rhythms, but now I can’t remember the words. I tried experimenting with these 123/45s and 12/345s a few years ago. I’d like to try again.
Found this wonderful poem on Two Sylvia’s Press in the chapbook, Shade of Blue Trees:
FIG TREE AT BIG SUR/ Kelly Cressio-Moeller
Each day leaning
wave in unison,
The youngest leaves
arch green faces upward,
devour sun off the Pacific.
The golden elders
bow closer to earth–
the perfect shape
for water to run
as rain, as fog
down to the root line.
When afternoon rays
light them just right,
they become a ring
of open palms
giving the last
of what they have.