4.5 miles
VA bridge and back
46 degrees
wind: 16 mph, 29 mph gusts
What a wonderful morning for a run! Okay, maybe the wind was a bit much, but the sun and the warm air and the clear paths made up for it. I felt good and strong and relaxed. A few times my right calf reminded me it was there — no pain, just a strange stretched feeling. I recited ED’s “I heard a Fly buzz — when I died –” several times, mostly in my head, but once, as I climbed out of minnehaha park, out loud! Should I be celebrating this? Do I want to be that person who doesn’t care if others hear her reciting poems as she runs? Yes, I do.
10 Things
- the hollow knocking of a woodpecker on dead wood, echoing across the gorge
- lots of black capped chickadees calling to each other
- oak tree shadows, sprawled everywhere
- the brown creek water lazily heading towards the limestone ledge
- rustling below me, on the winchell trail — someone walking over the leaves
- climbing up from the part of the path that dips below the road, seeing the shadow of trunk on the path that was so sharp and dark I thought it was a fallen tree
- sirens on Hiawatha, getting louder as they off the walls of the tunnel near 50th
- passing a runner — What a beautiful morning! — Yes! Almost perfect!
- a biker in a bright yellow shirt, as bright as the one I was wearing
- the meandering curves of the sidewalks that wind through the part of minnehaha falls near John Stevens’ house
This morning, while drinking my coffee, I decided to write about the delightful noise of geese wings cutting through the air that I’d recalled hearing a few weeks ago on my back deck — I remembered it after reading a list of 10 things from a feb 27th from another year. I wrote a draft of a poem, then decided I’d like to start writing delight poems every morning. No pressure — just patch a few words together and don’t try to make them elaborate — this isn’t a competition but a doorway into thanks and a silence in which another voice may speak (Praying/ Mary Oliver) — just the opportunity to sit with one of the delights I’ve encountered while running beside the gorge. A few minutes later, I had a further idea about including Emily Dickinson:
The practice, elements:
- write a poem each day
- the poem should be about some delight noticed on the run — either from that day or a past entry
any formrunning/breathing form: couplets of 3 syllables/2 syllables- uses, in some way, a favorite line from an Emily Dickinson poem
Here’s the poem I wrote this morning:
Too Silver for a Seam / Sara Lynne Puotinen
Even more than the sight of them
it is the sounds they make
that move me.
Usually it is the mournful calls
from within a tight formation
then the lone honk of the last in line,
but today the geese were low enough
to hear the sharp swish of their wings
cutting the air.
In their wake only the echo
of scissors and sharpening knives
and movement too silver for a seam.
The ED line is too silver for a seam and it comes from “A Bird came down the Walk”:
And he unrolled his feathers
And rowed him softer Home—
Than Oars divide the Ocean,
Too silver for a seam—
I like it! It needs a little work, but it makes me happy and captures my delight in hearing this sound. Scott wondered about the scissors and sharpening knives — such violent imagery — so I explained — the scissors make me think of Scott’s mom and the old scissors I inherited from her that make a wonderfully sharp scissor-y sound when you use them — it also makes me think of my mom who was always using scissors for her fiber art. The sharpening knives make me think of Scott’s dad and the enthusiastic and dilligent way he would sharpen their knives with their knife sharpener. I think I might need to add a line or two that signals my affection for these sounds without making it too obvious.
During the last mile of the fun, I started reciting other ED poems, including:
To make a prairie it takes a clover and one bee,
One clover, and a bee.
And revery.
The revery alone will do,
If bees are few.
Note: This seems like an edited version from Mabel Todd, with all its punctuation and no capitalizing of clovers or bees.
As I recited this small poem, I suddenly thought about how I was a bee, wearing my bright yellow shirt with my black running shorts and tights. I kept running, feeling ready to stop, looking ahead and wondering how close I was to being done. Suddenly I saw it: the bright yellow crosswalk sign with black figures at 38th street! I’m almost done when I reach that sign! I watched it getting closer and thought, it takes one bee or, it takes a bee?
update, six hours later: I’m back. Decided that I might want to add one more rule to this ED delight daily practice: I want to use my running/breathing form of 3 syllable/2 syllable couplets. I tightened up the poem I wrote earlier using that form. Here’s the new version:
Today the
geese flew
low enough
to hear
the quick swish
of wings
slicing through
the air. (I could leave air for the unintentional rhyme or switch to sky)
In their wake —
echoes
of scissors
cutting
knives being
sharpened
their blades too
silver
for a seam.