I began to run when I got fed up walking, and when I discovered that getting up at 6 a.m. to make an hour to write in didn't mean I had any more to say. In the last year I have run a nice loop around where we live and there is no accounting for the entire benefits. I definitely feel fitter, many a lesson plan and idea for the day ahead has formulated itself. Its the peace at that early hour I appreciate most though. Sometimes an idea that is slow burning or stuck resolves itself and I have the best of both worlds. I compromise now, split the time between writing and running. Here is a poem.
The air is wet and thick on this morning run,
invisible sheep move in the fields as I pass
discerning whether I am the farmer
come to check on them.
No dogs bark,
maybe sympathetic owners
have let them in to the side of the range.
I don’t mind the weather and soon
find I am counting my steps,
fall into rhythm as under ether
and stop counting.
Pace even, the road passes under me.
At home, two fields above me,
they are just wakening.
Isn't it prayer when I am glad of this day
of these youngish old bones,
the bones of the man I love the bones off,
my boys and my girl, at last, my girl?