5 miles
bottom of franklin hill
56 degrees
Warmer than I expected. Thankfully I knew not to wear tights under my shorts. Beautiful, but humid — a haze in the gorge, above the water. On the way back, stopping at the sliding bench, sweat was dripping down my forehead. As I looked over the bench and down the slope, I realized that it was not quite as close as I had imagined in my poem about it. In that poem, the bench is inches away from the edge, when in reality it is feet. Do I change the poem to be more accurate, or keep it because it feels inches away when I remember it?
I’m glad I ran north and down into the flats. The view of golden tree line on the hill and reflected on the surface of the river was gorgeous. Wow!
10 Things
- the view in the tunnel of trees above the floodplain forest is all yellow
- running north, past a trashcan and a bench and a rock with a WPA plaque on it almost under the lake street bridge: a small metal table with a single leg in its center and three feet, upside between the bench and the trash can
- running back south, past a trashcan and a bench and a rock with a WPA plaque on it almost under the lake street bridge: someone had pulled apart the table and stuffed in the trashcan — the three feet were sticking out of the opening and over the path
- the port-a-potty at the 35th parking lot, the only port-a-potty that had remained between the falls and the flats is gone
- running above the rowing club, 1: a view, opening, as leaves falls
- running above the rowing club, 2: a sour sewer smell
- a roller skier, skiing down the franklin hill then back up it, halfway, then down it again
- the limestone slabs that had been stacked under the franklin bridge and that looked like someone sitting are gone
- the crack north of the trestle is still cracked and blocked off with barricades, part of the crack is growing tall grass, part of it is marked with orange spray paint
- 2 stones stacked on the ancient boulder
Last night, Scott signed us up for the marathon next year!