4. i am not usain bolt
i ran. i ran uphill, i heaved and huffed. that's the thing about running. it's one of those things that make me want to give up. i want to give up.
i go up the elevation and i realize this is an adventure. i am no venture capitalist, but i'll be damned if i don't capitalize on this venture. i find the little opening of crescent trail and merge into the historic trail.
i could trip and fall. no one would know. i'm happy to be out in the open, the woods and dirt and all. the smell of trees and soapy flowers. bushels of light blue little petals. i'm happy to finally be here.
i hug a tree. the tree is so smooth. the tree feels strong and rooted.
i stumble upon a chair carved from the stump of a tree. it's like a forest throne, just for me. i sit. i stare. the little birdies have built a nest and they chirp. i can hear them. the city of fog and ocean in front of me. the wooden throne is not ergonomically supportive for my back. and that's the great thing about it -- i can feel the adjustments my body is making. leaning forward less. resting my chin. "looks cozy," a lady remarks as she runs by. sure is.
it sure is a run, walk, hike kind of sunday afternoon. the kind of sunday afternoon where i'm just by myself. i'm not at church. i'm not with friends. i'm not with family. i'm not with my instruments. i'm not with my books. the kind of sunday afternoon where i need to go somewhere to be right here.
'here' is where i can go up and go down. ascend and descend and then try again. look down at the view. ask why is the sky blue? again.
i didn't sprint.
wanduffle