My legs are scratched to pieces. I've been picking thorns out of them for the last fifteen minutes, and there are small burning places that let me know, in no uncertain terms, that my search for them is by no means complete. My shoes are muddy and my socks are wet. I'm a wreck, and I love it.
As a disclaimer, it's not totally my fault...and then again, I not only totally take credit for it but would do it again in a heartbeat. I started out with good intentions--grabbing lunch, before I delved into the fascinating world of physics--and things were progressing nicely until I stepped out of the car and into a small windstorm. There is no weather that I love more than what we have today--storm just ended, scattering of clouds and blue blue blue sky, sharp smell of rain still in the air. It tasted like spring. It looked like spring, spinning there, looking me in the eye, hair blowing in the wind, wild-eyed, with a slightly insane grin, madly beckoning. How can you stay inside with an invitation like that?
So I whirled inside, tried to collect my reluctant roommate, and then took a wild run through the woods out back. Hence the thorns, because although you may have this pretty little Disney picture of what a stroll through the woods is like, the books always fail to mention the damage that one strand of briers can do to a person--much less a whole fleet of them.
But it was gorgeous. Wind everywhere, trees going crazy, just perfect. A day for laughing. Like it was made just for me.
1 comment:
I hate sometimes that I always want to write about running. But I guess there's something about it that comes from the soul. And that's where writing seems to come from, too. Maybe they're related.
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