War and Peace
A playful squirrel chases juncos, just to see them hop and scatter. A bright-red robin flashes by, makes the squirrel jump and run. A missile flies, a mother dies, a child cries — another day is done. . [ 1392 ]
A playful squirrel chases juncos, just to see them hop and scatter. A bright-red robin flashes by, makes the squirrel jump and run. A missile flies, a mother dies, a child cries — another day is done. . [ 1392 ]
Drenched again. Lately I’ve been running on different streets so I won’t know how far I’ve gone. It’s like rubbing someone’s back: a little this way, a little that, following the crevices and seams, and then coming back around again, high, low, to turn again at the mole — what has any of that to do with distance? Warm rain — sweet sleep — apricot blossoms — someone rings the […]
Shorts, a T-shirt, and another run through the dark in the rain. Fifty-two degrees, a joy to move and breathe. And then there’s the news: the neighbor’s overflowing gutter, a streetlight out, a car with a for-sale sign, the sound of distant geese. Wet arms, wet face, wet hair, wet feet. Nations come and nations go. Rally ’round the flag — a mother’s grief, her bloody sheets, her once-bright tablecloth. […]
When I came in from running in the rain and wind, the house knew exactly where I’d been. Why didn’t you take me? it said. I looked around the room — the books, the desk, the paintings, the photographs, the antique odds and ends. You’re right, I said. It’s like a desert in here. Death Valley. And the walls closed in, with all their strange perfume. They held me close, […]
Being complacent is one thing. Being happy is another. Someone must be happy, lest we all forget. Someone must be joyful, someone must laugh. Yes, someone must, someone must. Because not being happy is a crime as great as any war. Or why bring more children into the world? . [ 1388 ]
The gentle are strong, the wise are gentle. The violent are frightened and weak. Kingdoms are brief. Hate is belief. Love is a verb and a noun. . [ 1387 ]
A frosty morning, the stars still out. The moon said, I am what I do, and I do what I am. And I ran and I ran, and I ran and I ran. . [ 1386 ]
Also in today’s news: your birth, your death, your breath, your joy. . [ 1385 ]
Twenty-five degrees. A pleasant run. I did have on a light pair of gloves. But the feet were free, and the toes, you see, came happily along. The wanderer roves from east to west, in his wake the icy wind — he gathers stars in his tattered sack, shows his back then lights his lamp again. . [ 1384 ]
In addition to running, I walk once or twice a day. Sometimes, even then, I find myself almost running. Either way, I’ve been aware for months how the barefoot-and-huarache experience has changed the way I feel and move. After years of being tortured by shoes, walking and running is a joyful, pain-free activity that’s made it harder for me to sit for more than fifteen or twenty minutes at a […]