3.1 miles
mississippi river road path, north/south
68 degrees
70% humidity
Felt warm this morning. Decided to listen to the gorge instead of an audio book. Nice. I should do this more often. Greeted every welcoming oak with a “good morning!” or “hello friend!” Glimpsed the sun sparkling on the river through the trees above the floodplain forest. Passed a few rowers walking down to the rowing club–will I get to see (or hear) them rowing later in my run? (no) Made it to the railroad trestle and stopped to walk for a minute. So hot! So tired! Felt wiped out–I think I need to eat a big breakfast before my runs (I didn’t eat anything this morning). The highlight of the run–probably the month so far–was not just greeting but talking to the Daily Walker! I was walking at the time and he said, “you’re walking?” When I said it was so hot he agreed and we talked for a few seconds more. I think this is the first time I have actually talked to him. Pretty cool. Every one of my runs was tough this week but I don’t care that much. Still great to be outside and be beside the mississippi.
Almost forgot to mention something I noticed yesterday and today: The cotton from the cottonwood tree is not white, at least not once it hits the ground. It looks green to me–a pale green–willow perhaps? Is it green or is it my vision or a trick of the light or its close proximity to the grass and so many green leaves?
So much green. I’m always looking for green poems and I’ve found a few. Here’s another one to add to the list:
Green/Maggie Nelson
Screams from an Italian family up the street
That stupid kid hitting rock after rock with his metal bat.
I’d be a shitty boyfriend, you said, as if
making a promise. I said, It’s not the content
I’m in love with, it’s the form. And that
was tenderness. All last year
I planned to write a book about
the color blue. Now I’m suddenly surrounded
by green, green gagging me
pleasurably, green holding onto my hips
from behind, digging into
the cleft, the cleft
that can be made. You have no idea
what kind of light you’ll let in
when you drop the bowl, no idea
what will make you full
Also found this useful article about green in poetry.