spring going OFF in the Methow Valley, thirty-five weeks pregnant, cr. Ryan Audett

Ryan, Nason, and I celebrated thirty-five weeks with a speedy swoop around my favorite short trail near home. and it is official: Babydaddy is a runner. he's gone down that slippery slope of picking up the sport just to stay fit for ski season and now rock season and after the run I asked him if he finds running fun (no) then if he finds it satisfying (YES!). and there you have it, he'll be joining me on ultra distances this summer before we know it.

this morning I was so very grateful for spring and it stirred within me, on top of me, all around me. rattlebramble tasted my right thigh then my left as I flowed in the blissful cleft between chartreuse shaking aspens in the path of the creek - my legs blushed in stripes at the attention. and then the beat of my body against the land hammered out the pace of the symphonic contractions of every tiny muscle in me and I wanted the beat to sear my eardrums as it built, flowing up and out through the crown of my head. 

so I went faster, faster, faster still until I was steady at PR pace feeling like one giant planar surface baking in the sun to my left. the whole round blood-flooded power-filled mass of me hovered over the trail, diligently touching it here, here, here and the earth steadily witnessed me in return in its implacable gesture of eternal motion and stillness. at one point I looked down toward my feet, which I can still see, and was shocked at the roundness of my belly juxtaposed against the ease of my speed.

I envisioned myself as a braver version of Atlas, carrying the globe within my belly rather than on my shoulder where I'd be gloating with my effort for all to see. except the new life in my middle is less the globe and more an expanding microcosm of the entire universe rotating suspended in my black unsearched frontiers. and sometime in the last two weeks the baby gained its personhood in my spirit's eye and I am not one but two. perhaps this makes me a multiverse now in motion, circumambulating this unremarkable basaltic outcropping which is home to the partridge I so wish Nason would learn to flush. 

soon the cosmos will vacate me and I will be just one, again, containing many unplumbed possibilities.