Written
after running at night in the Keys:
Humid
but not hot. Dark. Quiet. Tranquil.
A little patch of land surrounded by the soft and rhythmic
waves of a vast ocean. Moving through the air by
footsteps along the path. Alone.
The
intersection of land and water that usually speaks with
sparkling light is made mute by the blanket of gray, formed
by clouds that separate the mundane from the spectacle of
moonlight and starlight that makes time stand still and the
mind fly.
Running
now. Running along this envelope of earth.
There’s nothing to see but much to feel. There is the
reflection of the past, with every footfall like the last
but each in a new space. There is the thought of now,
the sensation of life appreciated, shared, loved, and soon
to be missed. There is the wonder of the future, the
never ceasing adventure of next.
Wonderful,
awesome, and in no way explainable. That’s
life. You can seek shelter in the petty troubles of
today and never see the grand adventure you have, or you
can strive to get your arms and your mind around it
all. You can strive, but you will never
succeed. Yet it is that striving that makes the
story. And is there ever a good ending if there was
no good story preceding it?
Thinking
now of a little girl who had such a short time to see it
all. She fought for life, her life, and in the fight
she loved and was loved and saw and felt all that she
could. She made everything of her time, and when her
eyes closed to never see again, we lost too. Her
world was stuffed animals, cartoon characters, princesses,
play houses, rolling balls and the natural love children
feel and inspire. Those were her weapons and her
comfort against an enemy too small to be seen, but very
real. In the end, the enemy had its way, but
her life was an example and a victory because it was not
wasted and it was inspiring.
Still
running along. Now it rains. Softly. And
that’s good. That’s fair. That’s nice. I
appreciate it. Connected now to this scene. The
rain feels cool, keeps me from being tired. It keeps
me here.
Sometimes
there are no answers. But there are questions.
Sometimes the silence has to be enough; sometimes the
questions have to wait. Sometimes you just have to
take everything in and know it is not our place to know
all.
Coming
back now. Streetlights create an oasis of light, each
one its own and each surrounded by the night. In and
out of the light. In and out of the dark.
It rains but I don’t feel it anymore. I run faster
now, looking to each island of light as my next
destination. Faster until my heart pounds as hard as
it still can.
A little
song by James Blunt I hear, called Carry You Home.
It’s a little song that paints a grand picture:
A song
for your heart,
but when
it is quiet
I know
what it means
And I’ll
carry you home.
Now I’m
back. Under a roof and out of the rain.
And there is still time. Still time. For
what? I’m not sure, but I’ll do my best to make the
most of it.
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