When it comes to running there is no month like October.
Cool and wet, and when the sun comes out the light on the leaves: orange, my
favorite, red, yellow (close second), and all the shades in between and beyond –
burgundy ! – erupt like a van Gogh brushstroke, at least that is what counts
for scenery in the park up the hill from where I live, and, yes, when I don’t
run with my teeth-gnashing, drooling-mad hound Thurber, I’m on task as I run in
this divine space, aiming to catch – not trap against my body – but catch in my
hand one of those leaves as it falls to the ground, which I will take with me
on the run, held aloft like some buried treasure relieved from its hole and on
its way to its rightful place on the mantle of some medieval castle held in the
family against the better judgment of the accountant but not the poet.
Next: Running for Your Life: Fall. Because It Keeps You
Going
