bike: 22 minutes
bike stand, basement
run: 2 miles
river road, north/32nd, west/edmund, south
28 degrees
Didn’t want to run as much today, just to be careful with my knees, so I tried something new: bike in the basement, then do a shorter run outside. I liked it. The bike was a nice warm up for going outsider in the cold, or colder than it has been. I don’t remember much from the run. There were several stones stacked on the ancient boulder, the sky was gray, no roller skiers or bikers, a few walkers, the roots on the dirt trails seemed extra treacherous and ready to trip me. I don’t remember if there were any runners out there or what color the river was. No smoke or sewer smells. No sweet scent from decomposing leaves.
Today’s gray theme: silver (yes, I know silver is not the same as gray, but in my close enough/approximate world, it works).
I haven’t worn jewelry for years, but when I did, I always preferred silver to gold.
One of my favorite video memories from my kids when they were young is a digital story I created called, “Silver and Gold…and Poop.” Every so often I still sing, Yeah, let’s doooo it.
Years ago, RJP sang this beautiful, sweet version of “Land of the Silver Birch” for her grandmother, who cherished it.
Land of the silver birch home of the beaver
Where the mighty moose, wanders at will
Blue lake and rocky shore, I will return once more
Boom de de boom boom, boom de de boom boom
Boom de de boom boom, boom.
Reading up about one of my favorite poets, Rita Dove, I found this quote from her:
Poetry became my passion after I fell in love with Walter de la Mare’s “Silver” in Mrs. Edna Pickett’s sophomore English class circa 1962.
Silver/ Walter de la Mare
Slowly, silently, now the moon
Walks the night in her silver shoon;
This way, and that, she peers, and sees
Silver fruit upon silver trees;
One by one the casements catch
Her beams beneath the silvery thatch;
Couched in his kennel, like a log,
With paws of silver sleeps the dog;
From their shadowy cote the white breasts peep
Of doves in a silver-feathered sleep;
A harvest mouse goes scampering by,
With silver claws and a silver eye;
And moveless fish in the water gleam,
By silver reeds in a silver stream.
And, one more favorite mention of silver in a poem by a favorite poet:
A Bird, came down the Walk (359)/ Emily Dickinson
A Bird, came down the Walk –
He did not know I saw –
He bit an Angle Worm in halves
And ate the fellow, raw,
And then, he drank a Dew
From a convenient Grass –
And then hopped sidewise to the Wall
To let a Beetle pass –
He glanced with rapid eyes,
That hurried all abroad –
They looked like frightened Beads, I thought,
He stirred his Velvet Head. –
Like one in danger, Cautious,
I offered him a Crumb,
And he unrolled his feathers,
And rowed him softer Home –
Than Oars divide the Ocean,
Too silver for a seam,
Or Butterflies, off Banks of Noon,
Leap, plashless as they swim.
Emily Dickinson’s Lexicon: silver
silver, n. [OE, obscure origin.]
- Eloquence; beautiful words; elegant language; [fig.] poetry; literary verse; creative writing.
- Argent color.
- Melody; musical transcription; [fig.] scripture; sacred written text; [metaphor] lyric poetry; metrical verse.
- Seawater; shining expanse of ocean; [fig.] sky; heaven; [metaphor] eternity; infinity.