Running as poetry.

My brain was full of crowded thoughts, so I went running. I'm not much of a runner, but there's something to be said about the feeling of movement and the simplicity of only needing shoes.

I think there's some kind of disconnect that has to happen when you uproot and start in a new place. I feel like I'm straddling a line; one part of me craves a home and the other craves travel and I'm not sure which to feed. All sorts of things were swirling in my head and the sort of sadness that comes when you start leaving a place that you love. It's amazing that a year ago I started to make this place my home, and it's just started to feel that way more than any of the previous months.

It was the late afternoon when I started running. The sun was dodging in and out behind the lodgepole pines as I ran past, and it felt like I was flipping pages on a chapter book. The river below was moving so swiftly and all I could hear was my shoes hitting the dirt below and Veda's trot to my side and--oh, life moves so quickly.

Time is such a valuable currency.

As I ran further into the mountains, the sun started to dip below the ridgeline and the pines turned blue and dark green with early evening. When the last of the sunlight was beaming onto the trail and the pine needles seemed to glow, I stopped and laid in the tree groves because sometimes you just need to pour love into something and I wanted to lean my back against the 50 feet of bark that has seen more life than I have. And I sat and listened to the river move, and felt my lungs so clearly and the muscles in my legs appreciated the movement.

Ah, it felt like poetry.