4 miles
river road, north/south
36 degrees
Hello spring! Much of the snow has melted and the sun was out. There were rowers on the river — not seen, but heard. Passed so many happy runners — Hi! Good Morning! Heard lots of birds. Felt strong and happy and free, able to forgot about the bad mood I woke up with. No calf pain today, hooray!
Listened to the birds running north, my winter playlist running south.
10 Things
- the river, sparking and burning a bright white
- only a few clumps of snow on the trail
- a squirrel that I first thought was a dark tuft of grass — or maybe a ripped up bit of weed blocker, which makes no sense because this was above the gorge, not near someone’s lawn
- the coxswain’s voice, calling out instructions
- a group of women running, talking about tempos and repeats
- the floodplain forest — open, bare, a white floor
- voices on the old stone steps
- bright blue sky
- stopped at the trestle — someone moving just below
- at the very beginning, birds calling out — can’t remember how they sounded, just that I felt like they were telling me to have a good run
Walking back, heard more birds. Stopped to record them just as a plane roared above — a duet? Watched the silvery white plane, its nose up, cutting through the blue sky. Listened to the recording. Not a duet, more like layers of sound, disconnected, no noticing of each other. The birds kept on singing their song, the plane buzzing its buzz.
noisy trills
in trees
the buzzing
of a
plane — neither
seem to
notice the
other
I see a
silver
nose rising
but no
small throats . . . ?
Not quite finished with this little birding poem. I’ll try to come back to it later today.
Raining, Outlined/ Margarita Pintado Burgos
Translated from the Spanish by Alejandra Quintana Arocho
The forest. To say the forest. To suggest some music.
To carve the breeze.
To see a landscape. See it raining. Without rain but with raining.
With that raining that I always conjure when slowly, softly,
filled to the brim with tiny traces of an air that’s weightless,
I say to myself I’ll see it rain. I say it again, beside the window,
that it’s going to rain. That I’m going to see it rain.
To put forth the idea of rain before. The downpour plants
all its doubts.
To pour oneself on the raining. Allow oneself to rain.
To see raining. To say I see it’s raining.
Until the raining.
Until the rain.
Until then.
Until.
I love this poem and idea of rain/to rain versus raining.
I’m thinking about the connection between a rich green or heavy gray and the word, raining, appearing in my head — maybe, it’s about to be raining? I’m also thinking about my interest in the difference between the sun setting (raining) and a sunset (rain).
To see a landscape. See it raining. Without rain but with raining.
This line makes me think of looking off in the distance and seeing it raining, or have Scott tell me its raining — and not having rain where we are. Raining without rain.