march 26, 2019 / 5.1 miles / 39 degrees
I’d like to add this eagle to my list of regulars — maybe a “Birding” poem too?:
Wondered if the eagle that used to perch on a branch near the marshall/lake street bridge was back (they weren’t).
march 26, 2021 / walk / 31 degrees
I want to remember and return to these yellow poems of Emily Dickinson. Oh– and I bought those yellow shoes! Bright yellow Saucony Rides!
Emily Dickinson: Yellow
For as long as I can remember, green has been my favorite color and yellow my least. But lately–as in the last 3 or 4 years–I’ve grown to appreciate yellow. I keep intending to buy some yellow shoes or a yellow shirt or a yellow something. Maybe this spring I finally will? What does that have to do with Emily Dickinson and yellow? My poem for yesterday was “A lane of Yellow and the eye” and, after reading it and thinking about my new fondness for yellow, I decided to search for yellow poems over at the Prowling Bee. Here are 3 (“A lane…” and 2 more I found) that interested me: “A lane of Yellow led the eye”; “I dreaded that first robin, so”; and “To interrupt His Yellow Plan”
There’s a lot of great stuff to return to in this entry about yellow and my vision and work!
march 26, 2022 / 4.8 miles / 22 degrees
A useful discussion of movement and vision to remember:
Thinking about this line I reread this morning before my run:
your eyes are made mostly of movementDart / Alice Oswald (45)
I deduced to make this my task for noticing the world on my run today: What is moving on my run (besides me)?
10 Things I Noticed: Movement
- swirling leaves (seen)
- a woodpecker’s bill rapidly pecking on hollow wood (heard)
- the rush of fast-moving air on my arm (felt)
- Minnehaha Creek bouncing off of the limestone ledge then falling over the falls (seen)
- the river moving swiftly downstream under the Ford Bridge, encouraged by the wind (seen)
- dead leaves in a tree, shaking (heard)
- a shadow barely creeping over the creek under the tall bridge (seen)
- a black truck crossing the bridge then turning right (seen)
- many runners, including one moving slightly slower than me over by the gorge, as I ran on Edmund (seen)
- a flag at half mast (for Madeline Albright) waving gently (I expected it to be flapping in this wind, but it wasn’t) (seen)
No flashes. And the shadows I did see, tree trunks, lamp posts, stop signs, were all still. No darting squirrels, or dancing water, or soaring birds.
One other imagine I’d like to remember: the big rock that stands next to the lonely and inviting bench — the one I always wanted to stop at but never did during my early pandemic runs — looked like it had inched closer to the path. This rock is BIG so this is very unlikely. A closer look: its shadow was creeping onto the trail.
march 26, 2023 / 2.5 miles / 29 degrees
Here’s an image for my “Birding” collection!
Running up the short hill to the greenway trail I heard a goose honking. When Scott didn’t hear it, I wondered (out loud), was it a honking goose or a bike’s bad brakes? Funny what other things honking geese sound like to me. A few months ago I recall comparing a goose honk to a dying car (what my sister would call h-for-c — hurting for certain) that grumbled to a stop near the trestle.