So, on my run yesterday, it was not only incredibly cold, but also incredibly windy. Needless to say, my thoughts raced and sputtered, and the entire experience of battling my way around the park into the wind was cheerfully unpleasant. I saw my old friend, the ferocious hawk of Center Drive, eating a squirrel on the ground. This was the third time I’ve seen this particular scene enacted, and the second time with this particular bird. And so I thought to myself: Is this a sign? Is this predatory bird presenting me with a pertinent metaphor for my current existence? If I am to hawk, then what is to squirrel? Is change afoot? Am I to take a bite out of this thing called life?
Anyway, I soon realized that I had gotten my metaphor wrong. I was not to hawk as squirrel was to my life. In fact, the opposite was true. I am to squirrel and hawk is to, well, I just don’t know.
Posted in running
Not to use this forum as a place to air news of my aches and pains, but I feel something is wrong with me, running-wise. So, I’ve been taking it easy this week, and all my runs have been rather slow, plodding affairs. No matter. I will persevere, I am sure. Of course, this also means that that the voice expressed here — that strange failed Romantic painter who seems to dictate my odes to the false nature of Brooklyn, Virginia, and beyond — has fallen silent.
Also, I don’t know. The park is dead these days. I can’t figure it out. Perhaps someone with more knowledge of the tilt of the earth can explain why the sunrise in December was such an amazing thing — light springing forth from the endless miles of Brooklyn stretching out towards the sea — and this month, the sunrise is an afterthought that follows a long, grating, lightening of the sky.
Ah! What’s this? It appears to be snowing outside. This is a good omen, I hope. I believe Morningside Park will be lovely, and I must be going.
I know it’s perhaps too soon to write this, but with the chill gone, something of the magic of the park seems to have disappeared as well. I ran up and down the stairs on Lookout Hill this morning, but the sunrise never came, and I never really became winded to the point where I felt delirious and exhausted. And then, because I had no reason to linger, my timing was off, and so when I rounded the corner at the top of the park, the sun was already out and all the wispy red clouds had burned off leaving the sky a disconcerting gray. Also, now that I suppose I’m better at running, my mind lacks the pure emptiness that used to come from a combination of cold weather and exertion and the will to succeed. My thoughts are not as scattered.
Despite all this, it must be said that two days ago I caught my breath to see the mist so diffuse along the green ground beneath the still-lit lamps. Over the course of just a few minutes, that mist rises and it disappears and then, all of a sudden, the look of everything is different and clear and bright. It is a landscape that is filled with the absence of something that is ephemeral.
Instead of running, I currently face a large editing job and the prospect of more hours in front of a computer. The shadows outside lengthen and fall.
I think perhaps that because I sleep better in Virginia than Brooklyn, I am not filled with the same kind of frantic energy that propels me through the days in New York.
Of course, when anxiety abates, guilt resurfaces.
Posted in not running