Tuesday Morning's Run

Darkness reigns. At least he is still king at 7:00 a.m. around these parts. The horizon is waking from slumber, coated in just the slightest bit of silver sheen, borders between frost and freeze define ambiguity. Not enough to show breath on air.

Six miles out there to be had this morning.

Mile One on pavement, the Jap maple in front of my house has finally turned rustic red, cock crows late on the path down the steep hill next to the organic farm.

MileTwo and the creek is low, pooled up in still pockets of water, alluvial sediment where she usually runs steadily toward the Mackinaw. Pods from honey locusts litter the trail.

Mile Three in the woods and out. Sugar maples explode everywhere, sunsplashed yellows almost strobe-like in their intesity. Man with dog. Restored grassland, bluestem up four feet housing shy deer. Out onto the road, I take the hill with relative ease today. Breathing just slightly elevated.

Mile Four through the subdivision. My favorite part is looking out over the bean field toward our farm, only two miles by crow flight to the south, but not visible because, even on the prairies the land undulates where glacial waters once ran.

Mile Five back into the woods, stumble slightly on a covered root, hedge apples scattered.

Mile Six across the floodplain. Surely there used to be trees here, now just trusty ol' Kentucky bluegrass.

This plain floods easily most years in the spring rains. I like when that happens. On high years the water hugs the ridgeline, threatening incursion, but never quite making good on its saber rattles. Today all is dry.

I turn off my watch at the corner post, two hounds behind the fence to bark my finish line signal.