Tag: 10 things

aug 16/SWIM

3 loops
lake nokomis open swim
66 degrees / drizzle / mist

Open swim is open through drizzle and rain — as long as it’s not thundering or pouring. I’m glad because I enjoy swimming in the rain. Today there was a soft, steady drizzle. Much of the world was gray — a grayish white sky, gray-green-blue water — but some of it was glowing orange (3 buoys), yellow (lifeguard boat/jacket), and green (2 sighting buoys, a swimmer’s safety buoy).

image: Nearing the orange buoy — an equilateral triangle, glowing ORANGE! Everything else gray, washed out, smudged.

The water was cold and buoyant and, after the first loop, choppy. I felt strong and fast and like a machine — a boat cutting through the water, heading straight for the buoy. 1 2 3 4 5 breathe right 1 2 3 4 5 breathe left. Between the green buoys, when the water was washing over me on my left side, I breathed only to my right. 1 2 3 4 breathe right 1 2 3 4 breathe right 1 2 3 4 breathe right. Breathing only to one side seems strange, unbalanced, intense.

image: Heading to shore at the end of my third loop, watching a swimmer ahead of me. All I could see was the green dot of their cylindrical safety buoy, bobbing brightly in the gray water.

10 Things

  1. a thick mist just above the surface of the water
  2. getting briefly tangled in a floating vine mid-lake
  3. flinging a leaf stuck on my arm mid-stroke
  4. waves off to my side looking like swimmers
  5. a big splash in the water but no swimmer around to have made it — was it a fish jumping out of the water?
  6. orange buoys in a straight line
  7. a dozen other swimmers with yellow, pink, and green safety buoys
  8. sweet solitude, stroking through the mist
  9. one swimmer doing backstroke
  10. another swimmer using their safety boat as a float, turning their face up to receive the rain

I stopped a few times in the middle of the lake to adjust my googles or sight the buoys or take in the solitude and silence. So quiet and empty. Heard a few sloshes but otherwise, nothing or Nothing. Wow.

As we were driving back, I told Scott that another great thing about open swim was the hot shower afterwards. Ah! It’s the only time I take a long shower. I love standing there, rinsing off the muck, feeling the heat of the water on my warm muscles.

This was the last Friday swim of the season. Next Thursday, open swim ends. On Friday RJP moves into her dorm. FWA returns of campus on Sept 2. Then, Scott and I are empty-nesters.

aug 15/SWIM

4 loops
lake nokomis open swim
78 degrees

There was a chance of scattered thunderstorms tonight so I wondered if open swim would happen, but the weather shifted and I was able to swim 4 choppy loops, some of it even with sun.

10 Things

  1. cold. water
  2. fluffy clouds
  3. translucent bubbles
  4. a duck crossing my path near the big beach
  5. the orange buoy looking like a moon, faint and far off
  6. choppy water — breathing only to my right for long stretches
  7. lake water with a soft green glow
  8. a few vines floating by
  9. swans and sailboats
  10. the most popular color for safety buoys tethered to torsos today: bright pink

I can’t remember if I posted this bit from Nobody before, but I’m posting it again as something to think about while I swim:

if only my eyes could sink under the surface
and join those mackerel shoals in their matching suits
whose shivering inner selves all inter-mirrored
all in agreement with water
wear the same

wings

I’m thinking about how opaque the lake water is, how I’ve only seen a few fish, and never a group of them shivering or shimmering, how my eyes are hardly involved in lake swimming. Okay, they’re involved, but to a much lesser extent than one would expect.

question: do I want to be in agreement with water?

With all of the swells and choppy water, I was not in agreement with it today. Or was I? I didn’t mind swimming into walls of water, unable to see, stroking harder, lifting my head higher. I don’t want the water to be this rough all of the time, but sometimes it’s fun, like today.

aug 10/RUN

10 miles
lake nokomis and back
61 degrees

10 miles! It’s been some time since I ran 10 miles. I can’t run it as fast or as effortlessly as I did back in 2017 or 2018, but I did it, and it wasn’t bad, and I don’t feel terrible. Each week, I’m getting a little better and mentally tougher.

Sunny, cool, calm. I liked the moments when I was able to run on the soft dirt, on the boulevard or beside the paved path — the feel of fine grit under my feet, the sound of it shushing — sh sh sh, it is time, now, for the deepening and quieting of the spirit.

Heard a coxswain’s voice, below in the gorge. I just realized that I usually write, “heard the rowers,” but I hardly ever hear the boats or rowers talking or oars cutting through the water unless I’m down in the gorge, next to the river. What I hear is the coxswain’s voice and I think, Rowers!

I don’t remember seeing the river, but I did admire the beautiful blue of the lake. So blue! So inviting! The lake was crowded — some people walking, running, sitting, other people preparing to set up the course for tomorrow’s ywca tri. Halfway around the lake, I started hearing sirens, more and more of them. A few minutes later, I saw them parked on the road, lights flashing. I’m not sure what happened, but I hope everyone’s okay.

On my way back from the lake, I passed by a coffee shop where we used to get coffee when we lived over here. The outdoor seating was full of people. I liked listening to the buzz of conversations — no intelligible words, just the pleasant, relaxed sound of a Saturday morning in the summer.

10 More Things

  1. a roller skier’s wheels — squeaking, sounding old or rusted or rickety
  2. a fine mist above the falls
  3. a runner blasting some music as he ran by — can’t remember what he was listening to
  4. a view of the water from the bridge: a stretch of sparkles
  5. ducks, taking over the water at the little beach
  6. a little kid to his dad at the beach, can I throw a rock in the water? dad: since no one else is here, you can
  7. turkeys! 4 of them by the overlook, a kid calling out to his dad, turkeys! turkeys!
  8. a few seconds later, a dog barking at the turkeys
  9. a group of runners listening to “treasure” by bruno mars
  10. Mr. Walker-Sitter! sitting on his walker next to the fence on the edge of the trail

aug 8/RUNSWIM

4 miles
minnehaha falls and back
62 degrees

Cooler! I’m looking forward to fall running. It’s coming. Today’s mental victory: I didn’t stop at the spot I always stop at, but kept running up the hill and out of the park. Heard the falls gushing and the sewer pipes dripping, but my favorite sound was the rush of wind through the trees. It reminded me of my family’s farm and the glittering leaves of the aspen trees in the front yard. Sometimes, I really miss that farm and the late 90s – early 2000s version of my family. Everyone alive, almost all of us together for my birthday and the fourth of july.

10 Things

  1. roller skiers — at least 2, one coming up from behind, then turning towards wabun park before they reached me
  2. shimmering water spied through the trees near the overlook
  3. a kid kicking rocks in the parking lot, an adult calling out, I just have to pay for the parking. Wait there!
  4. the summery, sweet and fresh smell of a certain type of tall grass near short wall with “The Song of Hiawatha” etched on top — did it almost smell like cilantro? I used to smell this same grass in front of an apartment building running up the marshall hill
  5. a few spots of light on the double bridge
  6. the creek, just before spilling over the limestone ledge, was high
  7. the faintest spray of the falls as I ran by
  8. birds singing in stereo — by the gorge, in the neighborhood, across the street
  9. a cloud-free blue sky — bright blue, not bright blue
  10. a neighbor’s boulevard garden, filled with tall grasses and flowers and something tall and feathery that looked and smelled like dill — can dill get that tall?

Watching the Olympics — not at night, but during the day, getting to see (well, what I can see, sitting close up to the tv) the events in their entirety, nerding out on the rules and habits specific to each sport. My favorite new-to-me sports: kayak slalom cross and dinghy sailing. Wow.

A year ago, on 8 August 2023, I wrote about Mary Oliver and her swimming poem:

Recited Mary Oliver’s “Swimming, One Day in August” in my head as I swam the last loop and realized something. She writes:

Something had pestered me so much
that I felt like my heart would break.
I mean, the mechanical part.

The mechanical part? I realized that her heart breaking is a good thing here and that her mechanical heart is the one that follows the beat of organized, tightly contained time, broken down into hours and minutes and seconds so we can be as efficient and productive as possible. Yes! Swimming in the lake can break me open and out of time’s rigid boxes.

I want to think about this breaking open and stepping or stroking? out of time while I swim.

swim: 5 loops
lake nokomis open swim
68 degrees

Brr! The water was warmer than the air temperature and wasn’t too bad for most of the swim, but that last loop! The cold creeped in. First my hands, then my feet. I was in the water — didn’t stop — for an hour and 25 minutes.

Rough water: starting the loop, swimming towards the little beach, I was almost swimming with the current. Mostly the water pushed me forward, occasionally it pushed me off to the left. Rounding the far orange buoy, I swam into the waves/swells. We (the water, me) didn’t fight, but it was difficult to see or sight, and I often had to breathe to my right. I wasn’t trying to rhyme so much in this last sentence. The final stretch between the last green and the first orange was the calmest — a reprieve before beginning another loop.

I did try to think about Mary Oliver and the mechanical part of my heart breaking. I thought about rhythm and my steady stroking and my (hardly ever) stopping. Then I thought about how I had no idea how much time had passed — 30 minutes? an hour?

I’m writing the swim part of this log entry the next morning. Can I remember 10 things from the swim?

10 Things

  1. loose vines, briefly clinging to my cap — not slimy or scratchy
  2. something in the water, out in the middle of the lake — water milfoile?
  3. seagulls!
  4. ducks!
  5. opaque water — I don’t remember the color, except for that it was not yellow
  6. puffy clouds in the sky, one off in the distance, near the parking lot, looking almost like a plume of smoke
  7. planes!
  8. movement out of the corner of my eye — usually a wave, sometimes a swimmer
  9. a sailboat on the edge of the course with a white sail
  10. finishing the swim, having a brief conversation with someone: hello. what are you doing? / I’m swimming across the lake. / why? / because I love to and there’s an open swim club. / what’s that yellow thing behind you? / it’s a safety buoy so I can be seen. I carry my phone in it. / oh, thanks for talking to me!

aug 6/RUNSWIM

9 miles
lake nokomis (cedar bridge) and back
61 degrees

9 miles! Decided to break it up into blocks of 3. Miles 1-3: easy, no stops / Miles 4-6: run 9 min, walk 1 min / Miles 7-9: heart rate zones. Well, I didn’t really follow it on the last mile; I ran the whole way. Another mile would have been water — especially without water — but by next week, I’ll be ready for it. (3 sept 2024: I’m not sure what I was trying to write here? Would have been harder?)

10 Things

  1. LOUD leaf blower
  2. lawn mower
  3. overheard audiobook line coming from a passing biker: she walked through the airport
  4. an adult yelling at a kid: it’s only 10 am, and you’re already covered in fricking dirt!
  5. sparkling water, 1: the river, through the trees
  6. rowers!
  7. sparkling water, 2: from the bridge, lake nokomis
  8. boats waiting at the dock to be checked for zebra mussels
  9. a pickleball tournament at the rec center — thwack thwack thwack thwack
  10. 2 bikers yelling to their friend — Laura! Sue! Laura and Sue turn around and bike back to them. Biker 1 explains, this is the turnoff to go over the bridge. Laura or Sue, oh, it’s been so long since I’ve biked over here

swim: 4 loops
lake nokomis open swim
76 degrees

Another great night for a swim! There’s still a blue-green algae advisory, but I didn’t encounter any, only one or two vines. Wasn’t sure how I’d feel after running 9 miles in the morning, but I was fine. Tonight’s 4 loops were on the longish side. Here’s a comparison that future Sara will appreciate:

6 aug 2024: 4 loops / 2.5 miles / 2490 strokes
2 aug 2024: 4 loops / 2 miles / 2212 strokes
28 july 2024: 4 loops / 2 miles / 2276 strokes

The green buoy closest to the big beach was a lot farther south than it has been in the past week. I almost missed it during the first loop. I had to stop and look around. When I finally saw it, it was so far out that I doubted my eyes, almost thinking it might be the sail on a boat. A moment/image: treading water that was calm and flat, everything quiet, no one around, facing the sun, seeing the green buoy to my left looking enormous and far away. A double-take, then cautiously swimming towards it. Difficult to put into words the feeling, out in the lake, when I stop to tread water — such wonderful solitude and peace, maybe it’s not solitude, but a sense of nothingness or an emptying of self, a joining with the water and sky.

10 Things

  1. swimming away from the sun (heading east), seeing a strange red-orange spot in my left goggle
  2. clouds — a feathery pattern
  3. a plane, parallel to the water
  4. a seagull, then a flock of seagulls high above me — I turned my head to watch them as I breathed
  5. orange reflections on the water, near the buoy
  6. sighting the buoy, far off in the distance, emptied of its orange, looking white
  7. not too many yellow safety buoys tethered to swimmers, more orange and pink
  8. another regular swimmer saying to me before the swim, I’m glad you’re here. I thought I was the only one!
  9. a repeated squeaking noise that I couldn’t quite place — my swim cap? nose plug?
  10. 3.5 feet visibility — barely a hand or bubbles, nothing below me, swimming in pale green nothingness

My swimming one day in August project update: So far, I have 5 hours 34 minutes 44 seconds of my 24 hour goal. Can I do it? Of course I can!

Kamala Harris has picked Mn gov Tim Walz as her running mate. He’s a wonderful choice. Joy, hope, possibility.

aug 3/RUN

5.5 miles
ford loop
73 degrees
humidity: 77% / dew point: 62

I thought it was going to be cooler this morning, but I was wrong. Hot, humid, lots of sweating — not moist, soaked. Didn’t bother me too much, and I’m not wiped out now. More progress! Felt strong at the end, like I could have run for longer.

10 Things

  1. rowers on the river, at least different groups with 3 different coxswains
  2. one of the coxswains gave out orders and then changed her mind: no, do this first — take one stroke, just one stroke
  3. 3 kids on bikes on the east side of the river — let’s go to your house!
  4. those same kids, a mile later as we all (me running, them biking) reached the overlook. One kid: It’s the Mississippi! Let’s get off our bikes and explore!
  5. 3 or more big groups of runners
  6. water gushing, 1: from a storm drain in front of a house
  7. water gushing, 2: at shadow falls
  8. water gushing, 3: the sewer pipe at 42nd
  9. the cool, dark shade under the trees on the way down from the ford bridge
  10. the street lamps were on on the St. Paul side — have people stopped stealing the copper?

a new term discovered: daylighting

In recent decades, these rivers have also rallied a growing chorus of advocates in the fields of restoration, architecture, and city planning who champion an idea once seen as extreme or even dangerous: to bring them aboveground again. This idea is known as daylighting, the exhumation of streams from underground and reintroduction of them to the surface. There is ample research-based evidence for what seems intuitively true: natural waterways—meaning, those that flow through the topography of a landscape and not through a sewer—support healthier ecosystems than those encased in concrete darkness. Daylighting brings benefits to water quality that include nutrient retention, prevention of algal blooms, and overall more supportive environments for a diversity of species. It also keeps clean water out of the sewer system, where, currently, huge volumes of it unnecessarily go through the sewage treatment process, a waste of resources that can also cause sewers to overflow.

Reaching the Light of Day/ Corinne Segal

“The water’s going to flow where the water wants to go” (Eric Sanderson).

I’ve read about the rerouting and covering over with concrete of creeks and waterways near the Mississippi River Gorge. Looked it up and found this: Daylight Phalen Creek.

The article also mentions, ghost rivers. I want to use that in my haunts poem! Found this cool art installation in Baltimore: Ghost Rivers. I didn’t realize it, but this project is featured in the article!

I’m reminded of Bridal Veil Falls, near the Franklin loop and the underground stream. Here’s an article I found and posted way back in February of 2019: Bridal Veil Falls

aug 2/SWIM

4 loops
lake nokomis open swim
75 degrees

An almost perfect morning for a swim: sunny, warm, barely a ripple in the water. Amazing. I couldn’t see the orange buoys, but it didn’t matter. Steady and straight, right to them. On the first loop, something hard bumped into me — a twig? — and, for a moment, I was startled out of my stroking and breathing trance. I thought about what was down below me, imagining some fish swimming up and bumping into me. Then I forgot about it and almost everything else.

As I entered the water, more than a dozen tiny minnows parted at my feet — the fish in me escaping!

10 Things

  1. cloudless blue sky — bright, but not quite cerulean
  2. a dragonfly near the surface — at least I think it was dragonfly, it looked big, but too small for a bird — size is often distorted when looking in the lake
  3. swimming south towards the bridge, shafts of light were rising up from the bottom of the lake
  4. a few planes in the air
  5. both green buoys were easy to sight — bright, white dots in the distance
  6. hardly any other swimmers in the water — in the best way possible, I felt alone
  7. water surface: blue, flat, smooth
  8. stopping briefly in the middle of the lake, hearing the sloshing and rhythmic splashing of someone else’s strokes
  9. after the swim, walking near the bike rack: the solar panels on top of the picnic structure were casting pale orange shapes on the sidewalk
  10. swimming east towards the little beach, the bubbles my hands make were sparkling and glittering in the sun, too sparkling to be real, looking like something you’d see in a cartoon*

*Days after writing this, I happened to be watching classic Scooby-Doo and saw the bubbles I was thinking of:

unreal, sparkly, bubbles-as-outlines

Speaking of bubbles, I searched for them on Poetry Foundation and found these lines:

Its bubbles are words
meant for no one.
(from In the Aquarium/ Dunya Mikhail)

I like imagining my underwater bubbles as words being released, not as speech intended for any one, but as something else: a letting go? an accident — leaking words all over the lake?

I’m reminded of Alice Oswald’s restless thought bubbles in Nobody released from the body and traveling across the water, there and there and there.

I’m also reminded of Anne Sexton and “The Nude Swim”:

We calmly trailed over them
and under them, shedding
air bubbles, little white
balloons that drifted up
into the sun

What patterns do I leave on the surface with my strokes, and how long do they last? What if my bubbles could float above and witness them?

july 30/SWIM

5 loops
lake nokomis open swim
90 degrees

5 loops! An almost perfect night: warm, sunny, calm. I don’t think there were any waves. No green goo, either. They (whoever they are — I’ll have to look it up) tested the water on Monday and lifted the blue-green algae advisory. Hooray! I felt strong and relaxed — except for when I got boxed in between a freestyler and a breaststroker and accelerated for 5 minutes to get clear of them.

I couldn’t see the green buoys at all and got a bit off course in the back stretch on every loop, but I didn’t panic or get upset. In the first loop, the second green buoy was way off course: too close to the other green buoy and too far out to the south. They moved it during my second loop and I had no idea where it was. I ended up swimming behind the lifeguard. I remember not caring and approaching the rest of the swim as a fun challenge: can I manage to do one loop right? My last loop was the closest. I briefly considered doing a 6th loop, but when I thought about my troubles sighting the last green buoy, I decided against it.

10 Things*

  1. blue sky with a few wispy clouds
  2. mostly warm, almost hot, water with a few pockets of cold, which felt great
  3. a few scratchy vines, one forced me to stop stroking to fling it off
  4. menacing swan count: 3
  5. doing a few quick breaststroke strokes and catching a glimpse of something small, but not that small, flying just above the water — hope it was a dragonfly
  6. stopping in the middle of the lake, hearing happy voices at the big beach: crowded
  7. the light! later in the summer, the sun lower in the west, giving everything — water, trees, beach — a warm glow
  8. later, after getting beers at the Painted Turtle, Scott pointed out that a few of the swan boats had lights on them! very cool
  9. real birds — a row of ducks, then a duck and ducklings
  10. menacing kids: 2, tormenting the ducks

from Dart/ Alice Oswald

like a ship the shape of flight
or like the weight that keeps it upright
or like a skyline crossed by breath
or like the planking bent beneath
or like a glint or like a gust
or like the lofting of a mast

such am I who flits and flows
and seeks and serves and swiftly goes —
the ship sets sail, the weight is thrown,
the skyline shifts, the planks groan,

the glint glides, the gust shivers
the mast sways and so does water

then like a wave the flesh of wind
or like the flow-veins on the sand
or like the inkling of a fish
or like the phases of a splash
or like an eye or like a bone
or like a sandflea on a stone

such am I who flits and flows
and seeks and serves and swiftly goes —
the waves slide in, the sand lifts,
the fish fades, the splash drifts,
the eye blinks, the bone shatters,
the sandflea jumps and so does water

the inkling of a fish — mostly, all I get in the middle of the lake are inklings of fish: silver flashes below. I’m glad. Near shore, in the shallow water, minnows seem more like inklings of fish than fully realized fish. I love inkling as a hint or suggestion: the inkling of a buoy, a whisper from a fish, orange or come this way or over there

What are the phases of my stroking splash? What will glint tonight at open swim? I thought briefly about these things as I swam, but I don’t remember what I thought. I’ll have to try again on Thursday.

july 29/RUN

8 miles
almost to downtown and back
71 degrees
humidity: 90% / dew point: 69

8 miles! I ran first half without stopping, slow and steady. The heat and humidity didn’t bother me too much. I can tell I’m getting mentally stronger. Not too long after the turn around, at the Bohemian Flats parking lot, I stopped for water and the port-a-potty. Stopped at the next port-a-potty too. So glad they were there! I know most runners have at least one terrible poop story, but I didn’t want today to be the day I made mine! Other than gastro issues, the run wasn’t too bad. I was slow, but I kept going and stuck to the heart rate plan: when it hit 168, I walked until it dropped to 135, then I started running again until it hit 168 again.

10 Things

  1. 4 or 5 stones stacked on the boulder
  2. the blue graffiti under the lake street bridge is not letters, but shapes of some sort
  3. a park worker on a big, lawn mower/tractor, whipping around trees, cutting the grass
  4. hello friends! — greeting the Welcoming Oaks
  5. a mother yelling at her kid — Carly Jane (or something close to that), put your legs down NOW!
  6. river water moving fast — I could actually hear it flowing south
  7. another park vehicle with bright headlights, trimming trees next to the trail
  8. gushing seeps in the limestone below the U of M campus
  9. a radio blasting out of a car window — didn’t recognize the song
  10. there was a crocheted sweater — orange and lime green, I think — in the port-a-potty at the flats

Cole Swensen and rivering

opening line from Gave/ Cole Swensen

no river rivers

What is to river? I can imagine rivering as the act of being beside and with the river — walking or running — or in it — swimming, rowing — witnessing the river.

Here’s another use of river as verb from swims/ Elizabeth-Jane Burnett

The river is something that happens,
like exercise or illness, to the body
on any given day
I am rivering.

On 16 august 2022, I posted this line from Burnett’s poem, I am rivering, and wondered, could there be such a thing as lake-ing? And how does it differ from rivering?

Rivering and lake-ing and streaming and brooking and creeking made me think of a line from Anne Carson’s “1 = 1”:

Every water has its own rules and offering.

What are rules and offerings of the Mississippi River and Lake Nokomis?

Cole Swensen is particularly interested in walking, both generally and specifically beside the Gave River. Here’s an interview I’d like to read in which she talks about her walks and walking.

Other sources to remember:

Cole Swensen and bridges

Swensen has a section in Gave where she lists different bridges, and “other ways of crossing.” I’d like to archive the information about Mississippi bridges that I’ve gathered — names, interesting histories, etc.

clear water

Skimming through Gave, trying to find the section on bridges, my eyes fell on the phrase, the water is brilliantly clear, and I suddenly remembered watching surfing competition in the Olympics. It’s taking place in Tahiti and the coverage was great. They even had a cameraman in the water. At one point, we got a view underwater of the surfers’ legs sitting on boards. So clear! Such visibility! When I swim in the lake, I can barely see my hand. What would it be like to swim in water that was that clear? Amazing and frightening and a bit overwhelming at the beginning, I think.

july 27/RUN

5 miles
bottom of franklin hill and back
76 degrees
humidity: 80% / dew point: 71

Brutal out there this morning. Beautiful, too. Ran 2 miles without stopping then started relying on my heart rate to determine if I ran or walked. Above 168 = walk / Below 136 = run. Tried to stay slow and relaxed and unbothered by other people passing me. It worked!

10+ Things

  1. a large stack of stones on the boulder — 5 or more?
  2. rowers, down below — a coxswain’s voice
  3. bright blue bubble-letter graffiti under the lake street bridge
  4. smell: hot chocolate — in this heat? deep, rich, feeling like winter
  5. overheard: 1 runner to another — and of course, she made all those passive-aggressive comments
  6. a big group of shirtless runners (10 of them?), a smaller group of runners with shirts (5 or 6)
  7. a runner, in all black, including black pants (in this heat!?), steadily running up the franklin hill ahead of me
  8. sparkling water through the gap in the trees
  9. a very tall runner — young, long and gangly legs
  10. roller skiers — 2 or 3 — clicking and clacking with their poles
  11. a big bird, soaring above, a huge wingspan

Thinking about the Mississippi and what it means to me and my practice. Finished a first read-through of Cole Swensen’s Gave — lots of inspiration. And just now, out on the hot deck, I was rereading Alice Oswald’s Dart. I want to remember this passage from the perspective of the naturalist looking for eels:

from Dart/ Alice Oswald

the elver movement of the running sunlight
three foot under the road-judder you hold
and breathe contracted to an eye-quiet world
while an old dandelion unpicks her shawl
and one by one the small spent oak flowers fall
then gently lift a branch brown tag and fur
on every stone and straw and drafting burr
when like a streamer from your own eye’s iris
a kingfisher spurts through the bridge whose axis
is endlessly in motion as each wave
photos its flowing to the bridge’s curve
if you can keep your foothold, snooping down
then suddenly two eels let go get thrown
tumbling away downstream looping and linking
another time we scooped a net through sinking
silt and gold and caught one strong as bike-chain
stared for a while then let it back again
I never pass that place and not make time
to see it thre’s an eel come up the stream
I let time go as slow as moss, I stand
and try to get the dragonflies to land
their gypsy-coloured engines on my my hand

I love her descriptions throughout this section and the gentle rhymes. Is there a way to translate this eye-quiet, slow attention while running? Is it possible — both in language and as a practice of attention? Something I’d like to think about . . . .