5.25 miles
franklin loop
44 degrees
Still lots of yellow in the gorge, but leaves are falling fast. Wind, rain, and the possibility of snow flurries this weekend. Overcast, windy, less humid. I ran north to franklin, over the bridge, south on the east side of the river until reaching another bridge, back over to the west side, then home.
10 Things I Noticed
- The view down to the floodplain forest was clear; I could see the forest floor, or at least all the yellow leaves on the floor
- The view up to the road from the tunnel of trees was clear too; no hiding below the road until spring
- The river from the franklin bridge: cold, dark blue, the railroad trestle in the distance
- Running under the railroad trestle, I heard some voices, laughing. Looked down: at least 2 people walking up the limestone slab steps on the Winchell Trail
- Running under the railroad trestle, 2: a memorial for someone who died–a biker hit by a car? In addition to the hanging white bike, which is always there, a vase of flowers placed on the ledge
- Nearing the old stone steps, hearing the yippy bark of a dog slightly below, the sound moving up slowly — was the dog climbing the steps? Yes. When I reached them, there they were: black, tiny, skittering around
- The spray of water that hit me as I started my run–not sure what it was from. It happened as I ran by a neighbor’s house, where a loud machine that looked like a pump, attached to a hose, was set up. Was it an exploding sprinkler? Would I have been able to avoid this if I could see better?
- A shorter, older woman with white hair, slightly hunched, walking fast
- A taller, younger woman with a pony tail and jutting elbows, also walking fast
- After my run was finished, walking the last few blocks: wind chimes!
A great run. I’m working on a long, sequence poem about haunts, haunting, and haunted, and I had a few good thoughts, like the idea of haunting (frequenting, traveling on, slightly floating above) the path/trail as being (happily) out of touch. Disconnected. I thought about the image of a phone being off the hook and eavesdropping, to listen in, overhear, catch bits of someone else’s conversation. Everything an opportunity to be curious and imagine/guess what’s being said without needing to connect that imagination to reality. To fly, float, have freedom, be freed from concerns, worries, the need to be productive.
Yesterday, working on this poem, which is in the form of 3 syllable/2 syllable lines, I thought about Lorine Niedecker and the short, stubby form of her poems. I think she’s an inspiration. Here’s a bit from one of her longer poems, Wintergreen Ridge. (note: in addition to having short lines, this poem travels across the page, broken up into 3 lines, the first with no indentation, the second with one indent, the third with two, on repeat throughout the poem. Mary Oliver does something like this too. Did she take inspiration from Niedecker? Anyway, I’m being lazy or rushed, so I’m not doing the fiddly, extra formatting required (lots of s) for spacing it.
Wintergreen Ridge/Lorine Niedecker
Life is natural
in the evolution
of matter
Nothing supra-rock
about it
simply
butterflies
***
(autumn?)
Sometimes it’s a pleasure
to grieve
or dump
the leaves most brilliant
as do trees
when they’ve no need
of an overload
of cellulose
for a cool while
Nobody, nothing
ever gave me
greater thing
than time
unless light
and silence
which if intense
makes sound
Unaffected
by man
I love Niedecker and her condensing ways!