3.3 miles
trestle turn around
11 degrees
75% snow-covered
Okay winter! Enough layers to keep me warm, a path that wasn’t crowded or icy, Yak trax to help me stay upright. The run wasn’t the easiest, but it might be the slowest. I’m stopped to walk more than I used to. Partly to admire the view, but also because I’m tired after a 1000+ miles of running this year. Time for a break, I think.
10 Things
- fee bee fee bee — a black-capped chickadee!
- the tight crunch of my feet striking and lifting off of the ground
- in several places, big mounds of snow off to the side, pushed their by a parks’ plow
- open water
- where the path is plowed, only on the bike trail, the snow is packed down or gone. Narrow strips of almost bare pavement have appeared on the edges
- where the path is not plowed, on the walking trail. the snow is loose and high enough to be difficult to run through
- 2 city plows on the street, rumbling down edmund
- I stopped slightly short of the trestle because someone was there fiddling with a bike, standing just where I wanted to stop to admire the view
- the sky was a bright white, not from sun, but from snow
- stopped at my new favorite bench — the view below was all white with thin brown lines and looked cold and alone
I made some progress on my latest section of Haunts this morning! Slowly, it’s turning into something. As I ran, I wanted to think about feral forms and forms that resist complete domestication and nets as forms. Did I? I’m not sure. Now that I’m back home, I plan to read a chapter in Lydia Davis’ collection, Essays One, about the unusual forms she uses in her writing. I happened upon this chapter by accident. Taking a brief break to think through what I was writing, I looked over at my bookshelf and noticed its awesomely green cover. So I picked it up and found “Forms and Influences.” Nice!
The poem of the day at Poetry Foundation was from Jenny Xie’s Eye Level. I’m pretty sure I checked this collection out several years ago, but I don’t remember this poem. One short section from it helped open a door for me into my poem:
If there is a partition between
the outer and inner worlds,
how is it that some water in me churns
between the mountain ranges?
How is it we are absorbed so easily
by the ground—
(from Long Nights/Jenny Xie)