I looked up through the tall green trees at the blue evening sky and said tonight, "you do know that I am thankful God, don't you?" Because there are a great many things to be thankful for, and even in my glumness, I do realize that. Below the mush, there is that rationale. I think that sometimes your heart hurts so much that the only way to block it is to keep moving. It's not a work myself to death type moving. It feels more personal than that. It's like movement - in a car, on a bike, in running shoes, on bare feet, over a road or meadow or stream. That's what gives me comfort. And being alone. I crave that time when I can just be with the movement. No thoughts really. No plans. And just moving. Am I running? (For two miles, yes) But, you know what I mean. I think I might be. It feels though, somewhat ambitious rather than flee-ful. Maybe that's just my justification.
Regardless, I can't seem to think in words. I opened a door that had been shut for a long long time. And now I need to close it, without nailing it shut. I need to fasten it, without glueing the hinges. And that causes me mild confusion. On the other hand, I have been paying attention to my actions, and wonder how far the door was open in the first place. Plenty wide for me, but would anyone else notice? I am still the girl who looks down instead of at. And even when given the opportunity to change that, I slide into that old comfortable invisible position.
We walk again after we run - the spotted dog and I. To cool down. To listen to "Landslide" by Stevie Nicks. To turn backwards and see the dirt road curving up the hill behind us. And I know what I love about this place where I am.
For right now, it belongs to me.