2.5 miles
2 trails
63 degrees
humidity: 87%
Sticky this morning, but no rain. Thought very briefly about stopping to walk after the first mile, but didn’t. Another mental victory. Ran south to the entrance of the winchell trail, then entered it. There are 2 sets of 3 or 4 steps but I never take them when I’m running. Instead, I run down the dirt beside them. Everything was dark green, except for the slits of the pale blue river through the trees. I heard some honking up ahead (geese) and voices down below (rowers?). In the opening stretch of the trail, the asphalt is cracked and sloped and on a steep, unfenced edge. Past the “edge of the world” it is in better condition. More level with less cracks and a black, wrought-iron fence to hold back the vines and trees.
Found this poem the other day. Great inspiration for my Haunts poems:
Possessed/ John Berryman
This afternoon, discomfortable dead
Drift into doorways, lounge, across the bridge,
Whittling memory at the water’s edge,
And watch. This is what you inherited.
Random they are, but hairy, for they chafe
All in their eye, enlarging like a slide;
Spectral as men once met or crucified,
And kind. Until the sun sets you are safe.
A prey to your most awkward reflection,
Loose-limbed before the fire you sit appalled.
And think that by your error you have called
These to you. Look! the light will soon be gone.
Excited see from the window the men fade
In the twilight; reappear two doors down.
Suppose them well acquainted with the town
Who built it. Do you fumble in the shade?
The key was lost, remember, yesterday,
Or stolen—undergraduates perhaps;
But all men are their colleagues, and eclipse
Very like dusk. It is too late to pray.
There was a time crepuscular was mild,
The hour for tea, acquaintances, and fall
Away of all day’s difficulties, all
Discouragement. Weep, you are not a child.
The equine hour rears, no further friend,
Intolerant, foam-lathered, pregnant with
Mysterious grave watchers in their wrath
Let into tired Troy. You are near the end.
Midsummer Common loses its last gold,
And grey is there. The sun slants down behind
A certain cinema, and the world is blind
But more dangerous. It is growing cold.
Light all the lights, heap wood upon the fire
To banish shadow. Draw the curtains tight.
But sightless eyes will lean through and wide night
Darken this room of yours. As you desire.
Think on your sins with all intensity.
The men are on the stair, they will not wait.
There is a paper-knife to penetrate
Heart & guilt together. Do it quickly.