This tree
thing is getting to be something of an obsession.
It
started, I suppose, or you could make the case, when I began catching leaves in
the park.
Well,
one leaf at a time.
There
are rules as careful readers of this blog will know. (How many readers there
may be I can only guess. Given the exciting spare-time choices people now have [Yes!
virtual porn and 4G video games], I would think the total number of those
readers could fit comfortably in a New York City subway car.)
Leaf-catching
rules are as follows:
During a
run inside Prospect Park, Brooklyn, I make a valiant effort to catch a falling leaf
from a tree.
It
must:
Not hit
the ground,
Nor be trapped against my body. But caught like that childhood fly ball with your bare
hand.
It’s
been awhile since I’ve caught a leaf in the park. I’d say four or five years.
Some of that has to do with a slowdown in training. Last marathon: 2014; last
half-marathon: 2017. I’ve just been running in the park less frequently than I was when I started this blog almost eight years ago.
But I’ve
no less of a passion for the pursuit. And by extension, for the trees
themselves.
In Karl
Ove Knausgaard’s “Autumn,” he writes about the first Daguerrotypes, in which
the primitive quality made it impossible for human figures, no matter how still
they attempted to be, to appear beyond some fuzzy, nondescript entities, while
trees, especially those at a distance, are elegant and immaculate by
comparison.
And, as
I wrote in this space, some weeks ago:
Love trees, like dogs; human beings need a lot of work.
Love trees, like dogs; human beings need a lot of work.
Next: Running for Your Life: Radio to Finocchio
