Alive as Anyone

I ran a little later this morning, though I was done well before sunrise. Still, light was growing in the east, and I was treated to the first early-morning round of robin-song I’ve heard this late-winter, early-spring. One bird was perched on a low retaining wall, singing as it watched me go by, a scene that repeats itself every year, and which always remains new. I’ve run every day now for almost ten weeks. I enjoy running in the dark, and being able to see the moon, the stars, and the low-racing clouds. But running as daylight arrives makes me feel I’m in a world that’s ready for spring.

On hospice, our ninety-year-old neighbor will be as alive as anyone until his last breath. As I ran by, relishing and minding my own, I saw some lights were on — one in their bathroom, the other in the kitchen, marking the end of another night and heralding the coming of day. Their daughter and son-in-law’s car was in the driveway. They’ve been here several days now, and have made numerous trips from their home about four hours away to help care for their aging parents.

And the breath in my body? And in yours? Is there any greater treasure?

[ 2078 ]