In the middle of writing this morning, I stopped everything and put on my running clothes. I had promised myself I would get at least one sweaty workout in this weekend and if I didn’t go right then, I would not have time to enjoy it before we had to leave our mountain paradise to go home.
I haven’t run in many months. For those of you who don’t already know my running history, I am a three time Marine Corp marathoner (before children), and up until about eight or nine years ago, I would use that ability and level of fitness to define myself. At least that achiever part of me was worthy, strong, and accomplished.
This morning’s run was different. I was sort of possessed to go. It is not like I hadn’t sweated enough stacking a ton of wood the day before. That could have counted as my workout. Yet still, the thing inside of me was pushing, excited to step out into the chill of the dawn to run the one and a half mile loop that is the perimeter of our twenty two acres. I stuffed tissues and my phone in the zip up pocket of my running pants. Love those Nike pants. I decided that if the pain that usually came with running, should occur that morning, that walking would not be a disappointment, and so off I went on my trek.
I made it down the gravel path, hopped the chain fence at my neighbor’s property and continued on down into the trees. A few white tails bounded through the trees several yards ahead and I remembered that I wouldn’t get an up close and personal view of the deer unless I was much quieter. When the path transitioned from grass to a bed of crispy leaves, and the sound of my breath inside the down vest that I had zipped up over my mouth became too loud to hear, I came to a stop. My eyes scanned the tree line, out through the dense part of the forest and then around to the river line, watching for bouncing white tails, and at the place where you could see the river bank through the now bare trees, I watched for anything flying. Geese, ducks, Kingfishers, Blue Jays, Woodpeckers, hawks and even eagles frequent this wilderness. So far, nothing but a few geese. I would have to decide to run, or bird watch today, and today I did not have time for the later.
I rounded the corner where the river bends and heads toward our property line, where I usually see a pterodactyl (very large heron). He wasn’t there to greet me today, but I was not surprised. I am lucky if I get to see him from a hundred yards away most days, and that is if I am tip toeing through the path. Today I was running over the crunchy leaves.
Instead of the prehistoric sighting, I see the waning moon, still high in the sky above the trees and again I stop in my tracks. Ah, the moon, subject of so many of my poems lately. I try to pull the phone out of my zippered pocket but am too slow. The clouds have floated past and covered up my view. I run a bit more and stop again – this time getting an okay picture. Zipping my phone up for the last time, vowing to make the rest of my run steady back to the house, I take a short cut diagonally across the field so I can get to the gravel access road and head up the hill to finish my workout in time. As I navigate the chunky terrain on the field, proud of my sturdy ankles, I hear it. The cry of the hawk. I know this sound and don’t need to hear it twice before I look up to see the huge brown wings stretched out just above the tree line over the river. Another cry, fading a little this time.
And then the words start to come.
Chasing The Morning Moon
by Laura Probert
Up at dawn
spirit calling
out to chase the morning moon.
Donning layers for this trek
Waiting for the ones around my heart to fall away.
I hear the familiar cry
of my majestic friend
and all is well, and good.
I can stop my race
for I have arrived.
Nothing will
provide
a clearer window
to my soul
than the earth
the sky
the creatures
that fly.
Take your trek.
Shed your layers.
Lift yourself higher.
I am no stranger to running and writing. It is why I carry my phone with me now. The notes function allows me to capture the words that move through me so quickly these days that I have to get them down to remember them. If I had to tell you how this happens, I am not sure that I could fully explain it. Lately I feel I have cleared enough space inside of myself so that my spirit can shine through. And when spirit is moved, it flows easily, and thoughts become poems. It’s cool. I am paying attention to the moon, and the hawk, and the trees, and they are talking back to me. I write because I think you might like to hear what they have to say. I write because it keeps my spirit flowing. I write to lift myself higher.
