running becomes transcendental

This time of year is a smeared drop of my heart's blood, sighing through the beauty of yellow tree-shapes as they dance and bow under the sky. The colors dissolve my eyes and emotional boundaries, if I had any of the latter to begin with.

I drove by a copse of the most livid yellow trees last week, the quality of color that sings resonant heat into the heart, and so it was with glee that Cory and I walked over there. Cheery golden sumac leaves littered the gutter, and looking both ways to ensure that no one else was around, I grabbed great handfuls and tossed them into the air. They fell in slowed twirling showers, just as you'd dream they would. It felt like golden sunshine glitter, raining down.

After work I went for a run, the first test of my autumn running mettle. The windshield wipers had gotten a workout on the drive home, but I barely got a taste of raindrops under the threatening sky. The air was damp and sweet to breathe, nobody else was out, and cars gave me right of way because they felt sorry for me out in the rain. It was also fairly warm, just a perfect evening for running.

There's a point in the route I ran last night (my Lazy Route, a three-miler from my house) that always feels good. I'm more than half done, it's a downhill stretch, and there's a peep of the view to the west hills. My stride lengthens, breathing slows its cadence, and my thoughts become more vivid as the physical takes on a mechanical automation.

I noticed crows out, as joyous of solitude as was I. They wheeled in the sky, stretching their wings, winding flight paths for what seemed the sheer joy of it. As my thoughts deepened and lost their verbal sheaths, I thought-- it's the crows and I, thinking the same thoughts. There are no words, but only breath and the sound of the train. We're all stretching our wings to feel the air rush through our feathers. Every thing I saw, I was. My sight transfered my consciousness.

And then I changed course to run back by a house, out front of which I had seen at the start a bag of free calla bulbs. I ran the rest of the way home with both arms clutching the collapsing, wet paper bag. I've not seen so many crows, and crows alone, for a long time.