veterans’ home loop
humidity: 91% / dew point: 70
Slept in until 9 this morning! That’s the latest I’ve been asleep in years. Nice. It’s probably because it was dark and rainy this morning. A few thunderstorms too. Finally able to make it outside at noon. A nice, relaxed run.
Evidence of Rain
- puddled path
- squeaky shoes
- gushing ravine
- a big green mass of leaves at the edge of the trail, drooping so much I almost had to duck as I ran under it
- dripping trees
- slick car wheels
- mud on the sidewalk — I almost slipped!
- wet asphalt
- a roaring falls
- everything a little greener, richer, fuller
A few other things:
- the metallic whistle of a robin (I think?)
- a wedding party at the falls
- music playing out of a car stereo
- a young kid biking next to a running, shirtless adult
- running up the stairs two at a time
- loud birds below me near the creek as I ran over the bridge to the veterans’ home
- a woman on the path, kindly moving over for me as I ran by
- wildflowers growing through the slats of a bench near the locks and dam no. 1
- a group of bikers meeting up at the falls
- kids at the wabun playground, constantly ringing a bell — a ring and a pause then a ring again…ring….ring….ring
Found a wonderful essay on craft via twitter from a local teacher/poet. Here’s a passage about the last 3 lines, then the poem it refers to:
It’s an ecstatic moment. We break horses; we break into song; daffodils break into blossom; the line broke on break; and the whole damn thing just broke me wide open. I read the poem again and again, always focusing on that lovely turn. It seemed the enjambment to end all enjambments,Crafty Craftiness of Uncraft/ Michael Bazzett
A Blessing/ James Wright
Just off the highway to Rochester, Minnesota,
Twilight bounds softly forth on the grass.
And the eyes of those two Indian ponies
Darken with kindness.
They have come gladly out of the willows
To welcome my friend and me.
We step over the barbed wire into the pasture
Where they have been grazing all day, alone.
They ripple tensely, they can hardly contain their happiness
That we have come.
They bow shyly as wet swans. They love each other.
There is no loneliness like theirs.
At home once more,
They begin munching the young tufts of spring in the darkness.
I would like to hold the slenderer one in my arms,
For she has walked over to me
And nuzzled my left hand.
She is black and white,
Her mane falls wild on her forehead,
And the light breeze moves me to caress her long ear
That is delicate as the skin over a girl’s wrist.
Suddenly I realize
That if I stepped out of my body I would break