ferns popping, Squak Mountain
didn't think tigers three through south could get any greener than they were a couple weeks ago but I was wrong.
I read last night that spring never tries to outspring spring or produce the best spring there ever was, that would be unnatural. on today's run, I found this tautological in my disbelief. this spring tried damn hard to take my legs, the trail, the clouds blowing with it in its rapturous pull into the singing mud and back in tension toward the soaring Dougs. I whipped the nettles with my bare water droplet covered legs so many times I believe they are now immune to the sting, but not to the pull of wild berry brambles which marked their spots/love (XXXX) from ankles to the beginning of my skirt. the ferns popped but so did everything else green all at once and continuously for hours until the visual effect of their verdant display was so special it surpassed even that to cry green in unison, no stop between the cacaphony of each bubble, tendril, or stalk. no contacts in my eyes and misty inhales did not obscure the moving scene.
legs loaded with byproducts of the week's work, I moved slowly on the first climb (dire dire, Suresh-ji would have said) then asked myself why. I was nowhere near anaerobic and I wasn't tired so I ran faster through the successive drops until it stopped dropping. yesterday a friend told me she is afraid of spiders so when she sees one she reminds herself she is the spider. so I treated my heavy legs; they are part of me, not against me, so I worked with them until I was flying up and down, bobbing through flat lakes of devils club (even they are part of me) feeling quite blue and happy. push pulling up the sixth peak I passed a smiling stump, stumps do seem to be fond of me, and stopped believing in the future. my mind wrote and destroyed poetry in my head as I moved using the simplest and most beautiful words to record and release each stillframe moving through my running body and the heaving forest.
written jun 2012