3.8 miles
47th ave loop, shorter version
26 degrees
Deaths from COVID-19: 87 (MN)/ 26,119 (US)
Sunny and cold this morning. Feels like 15, I think. Ran south on the trail. Made sure to notice the river. A pale blue so light it almost looked white. Bright, glowing. A few extra sparkling spots. More people out this morning. Some other runners and walkers on the trail and in the grass between Edmund and the parkway. Still managed to get my 6+ feet of distance.
Recited “LOVESONG OF THE SQUARE ROOT OF NEGATIVE ONE” again. I love chanting “I am the wind/the wind is invisible/all the leaves tremble/I am invisible.” I kept repeating it as I ran north and into the wind. I’d like to be the wind, making the leaves tremble without being seen.
Been thinking about woodpeckers the past few days. Heard one right as I was leaving the house. Quick, staccato strikes. Later, about 2 miles into my run, I heard a slower, deeper pecking–was this a different type of woodpecker? Not sure.
Speaking of woodpeckers, yesterday I started writing a fun little abecedarian poem about woodpeckers. I reworked the first line in my head as I ran this morning. Here’s what I have so far. A fun exercise, if nothing else. And a great distraction, helping me to unclench my jaw and relax my throat when I get too panicked.
woodpecker/ Sara Lynne Puotinen (draft 1)
April’s anthem
Brbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbr
Claiming territory
Drumming for love
Echoing, excavating,
Foraging
Gutter gutter
Hole inhabiter, no headache haver
In possession of indestructible
Jack-hammering jaws
Knock knock knock knocking up to 20 times per second
Loudly looting larvae
Methodically mining maples–
Neighborhood nuisance
Or
Poet of the peck?
Quick
Repeated
Striker of
Tree trunks and telephone poles
Unstoppable
Vibrator
Wanting wood, worms, to lay waste to siding
Xylotomous
Yellow bellied sap sucking
Zealot of the rat a tat tat
And here’s a great poem I found via Lunchbox Poems:
Things to Do in the Belly of the Whale/ Dan Albergotti
Measure the walls. Count the ribs. Notch the long days.
Look up for blue sky through the spout. Make small fires
with the broken hulls of fishing boats. Practice smoke signals.
Call old friends, and listen for echoes of distant voices.
Organize your calendar. Dream of the beach. Look each way
for the dim glow of light. Work on your reports. Review
each of your life’s ten million choices. Endure moments
of self-loathing. Find the evidence of those before you.
Destroy it. Try to be very quiet, and listen for the sound
of gears and moving water. Listen for the sound of your heart.
Be thankful that you are here, swallowed with all hope,
where you can rest and wait. Be nostalgic. Think of all
the things you did and could have done. Remember
treading water in the center of the still night sea, your toes
pointing again and again down, down into the black depths.