minnehaha falls and back
32 degrees / sleet
A wonderful morning run. I was worried that it would be icy, but it was fine. Only a few slick patches. A gray day. The sky, mostly white with some gray. The ground, white and gray and almost brown. Didn’t really see the river; I was too focused on avoiding slick spots and approaching runners. Not too crowded, but more runners and walkers, 2 fat tires that I first encountered at the falls. Greeted lots of walkers with a good morning! and runners with a smile or a wave of my hand. I felt relaxed and strong as I ran above the gorge. On the way back, when I reached 42nd I crossed over to edmund to avoid the growing number of people on the path.
10 Things I Noticed
- smoke from a chimney as I ran by a house on edmund– in the same spot, all winter, every winter
- a strange whirring or dripping or buzzing sound coming from “Carly’s house” (or, as RJP pronounces it, Kerler’s house) — named after RJP’s classmate, Carly, who lives there
- a frozen falls
- 2 women hardly moving over at all on the path. I almost brushed elbows with one of the women, even as I tried to go as close to the edge I could, which prompted me to mutter, fuck, under my breath after I passed her
- the tinny recording of the bells of the light rail car leaving the 50th street station
- near the end I felt wetness on my face — sleet? rain? snow?
- 2 runners approaching from behind, one of them talking about planting seeds, I think?
- someone walking through turkey hollow, everything white and covered with snow
- heading back, running on edmund, I noticed a runner over on the river road running slightly faster than me. Suddenly I heard someone yell out to them — another runner who knew them was greeting them enthusiastically (I think?)
- finishing up my run, crossing 46th avenue, I heard some people greeting each other at the mailbox — Merry Christmas!
Found this poem the other day. How? I think I might have been searching for green? Anyway, a great poem to add to my bird poems and poems about naming and knowing:
Praise/ Michelle Poirier Brown
It is not yet time for singing.
Although I could allow this lake stroking the shore as song.
I feel a tenderness towards the small stones under my feet.
That’s a good sign.
And gratitude for the sun warming my neck.
I am learning the names of birds.
At the pond last week,
a soft-colored green bird with a white stripe down its head.
And just now, a small shore bird, black with hints of red at the back of its neck,
hops across the wave foam, pert and legged like a gymnast.
It has a name.
For praise, one needs vocabulary,
to know the difference between a call and a song,
and that birds that sing are among the passerines.
passerine: A passerine is a perching bird in the formal scientific order Passeriformes. These are the most familiar, typical birds and the term can be applied to more than half the world’s unique bird species, including all the classic songbirds, sparrows, and finches (Guide to Passerine Birds).