4.6 miles
to downtown
69 degrees
wind: 6 mph, gusts up to 30 mph
Not sure how much wind there was but I was running into all of it the whole way. It made it much harder. I stopped to walk several times but I still made it to downtown. Do I remember anything other than feeling sore and tired? The river was beautiful. I was able to make a satisfying shshshsh sound on the grit at the edge of the path. My back felt fine. I saw my shadow, running beside me. What a fabulous late afternoon. It is hard to believe that we are supposed to get over a foot of snow on Thursday.
Sitting by the open window writing this, I hear birds chirping and cooing and trilling. So I decided to look for a poem about birds and this is what I found:
Words are Birds
BY FRANCISCO X. ALARCÓN
words
are birds
that arrive
with books
and spring
they
love
clouds
the wind
and trees
some words
are messengers
that come
from far away
from distant lands
for them
there are
no borders
only stars
moon and sun
some words
are familiar
like canaries
others are exotic
like the quetzal bird
some can stand
the cold
others migrate
with the sun
to the south
some words
die
caged—
they’re difficult
to translate
and others
build nests
have chicks
warm them
feed them
teach them
how to fly
and one day
they go away
in flocks
the letters
on this page
are the prints
they leave
by the sea