2024: So many wonderful ideas in these entries! A workout to try from 2017; material for another Birding poem from 2020; a haibun to revise and lines to lean on from 2021; a poem and poet to study and a book to revisit from 2022; and an experiment to try and to archive on my experiments page from 2023.
march 24, 2017 / 5.25 miles / 38 degrees
Here’s a workout that I should try again:
Tried something new today: 2 minute warm-up, then run 9.5 minutes fast/walk for 30 seconds x 4, finish by running fast until reaching 5 miles
march 24, 2020 / 4 miles / 41 degrees
On the day before this day — march 23, 2020 — I posted about how the birds never leave. I had intended to create an On This Day page for that bit, but forgot. So, when I referenced it on this day — march 24, 2020 — I knew I needed to include it here. I’d like to make it one of my birding poems, I think.
Had a thought while I was walking Delia the dog after my run about the birds. I’ve been reading/hearing people talk about how wonderful it is that the birds are back because spring is almost here. Perhaps this is (somewhat) true, but I’ve been hearing the birds all winter. Sure, some of them migrated and are now returning, but many of them were busy making a racket all through January and February, even when it was below 0. Most people stay inside with their windows shut tight when it’s cold outside so they wouldn’t be able to hear any birds. My (not so deep) thought: The birds aren’t coming back. They never left. It is you who is returning for spring.
23 march 2020
And here’s what I wrote for march 24:
Only yesterday, I mentioned that the birds never left and have been around, making noise, all winter. Today, looking at an entry from December, I found proof: a recording. Just listen to those birds chattering!
march 24, 2021 / 2.7 miles / 41 degrees
1 — the bridge near folwell
Stopped at the bench near Folwell–the one on the rutted dirt path that links two parts of the Winchell trail and that I wrote about in a haibun that didn’t make it into my Mississippi Gorge haibuns–and stared at the river, framed by a few bare branches.
Here’s the haibun that I mentioned. I’d like to work on it a little more, maybe add something about the plaque on the bench that says, WWDD — see 8 sept 2022
On the Dirt Path Near Folwell Avenue Haibun
Sara Puotinen
Even if you try to time it just right when you climb the steep, short hill up to the dirt packed path, you cannot avoid the swarming swath of sex-crazed gnats or the little old lady slowly shuffling by, swinging her hiking poles, a voice TED-talking out of her phone’s speaker reminding you that this is why we are all here. Do not bother the bench resting on the rim of the gorge to ask what this is. If looking through the thickly thatched oak leaves to gather glimpses of the silvery river sparkling in the morning sun doesn’t already answer everything, the bench certainly won’t be able to help.
Bugs and old ladies
wake up early in June but
so does the river.
2 — Life is but Life! And Death, but Death!
Bliss is, but Bliss, and Breath but Breath!
In this entry, I wrote about how scholars speculate on why Emily is so excited in the poem that includes the above lines. Then I offer this conclusion, which describes what poetry means to me above all else:
I like that scholars, even after decades of scrutiny, can’t quite figure ED out. Nice work ED! While I can appreciate being curious about this “dark mystery,” right now I don’t really care what she’s talking about here. I like the little chant about life and death, bliss and breath, and I might try to lean on it when I’m struggling during a run, or attempting to block out worrisome thoughts so I can fall asleep, or feeling panic over yet another sinus infection.
march 24, 2022 / 3.1 miles / 35 degrees
This poem! I’d like to study it today, or memorize it? — Sing a Darkness/Carl Phillips
Other things I’d like to do: return to another Alice Oswald lecture — or, another month with her? — and reread MO’s The Leaf and the Cloud.
The lifting of the veil reminds me of a quote from Alice Oswald that I read the other day on twitter:
“The Greeks thought of language as a veil which protects us from the brightness of things, I think poetry is a tear in that veil.”
Alice Oswaldtweet
Of course, the tearing of the veil reminds me of Mary Oliver’s The Leaf and the Cloud and her discussion of the renting of the veil.
march 24, 2023 / 3.85 miles / 38 degrees
Have I added this assignment to my list of experiments?
Right before I went out, I read this poem and gave myself an assignment:
Thaw/ Edward Thomas
Over the land freckled with snow half-thawed
The speculating rooks at their nests cawed
And saw from elm-tops, delicate as flowers of grass,
What we below could not see, Winter pass.
Thaw as the theme for my running today. How many instances of it can I encounter?
I need to work on my experiment page, create a section on using poems to notice or poem scavenger hunts or . . . ?