Yesterday I shirked jogging because I was disgruntled about the weather. Today I forced myself to get suited up and go in spite of the rain. Spring is springing in Williamsburg. The dogwoods are beginning to bloom and the trees are about 1/3 leafy. Today everything was soaked to the skin (the German word for that is "klatzschnass" (sp?) - how delightful to have a word for it). The branches were dark, the leaves were heavy and wet and the whole forest sounded subdued and drippy. Apparently, the squirrels are also disgruntled about the weather because I heard none stir today as I ran past when usually I scare up dozens of little scurries on my course through College Woods. I imagine today they are having one last scrap of winter rest with their noses under their tails before going full throttle until next winter.
I love to see all the buds small and bright and tightly wrapped. They are so expectant...I remember how that feels. I can almost hear God reminding me of the irrepressibleness of life. My crotchety hip (no pun here) reminds me that I have begun the long decline into the dissociation of my joints, cells, and molecules. I've been part of the budding, flowering, and fruiting. I'm sensing how certain it is I'll eventually moulder. And God is good no matter which station I occupy in this cycle. I think I'm somewhere around second base. Maybe between second and third. Who knows. I don't care as long as I can suck some fresh air every day among respiring trees.
Am I a hippie? You didn't just read that. I didn't just write it.
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