A Running Collection

The birds sing the sweet song of the passing rain. Red, yellow, and orange leaves peak out of the grass. The air is warm. The last remaining warmth as we wave goodbye to October and welcome November. And the children nap -- nap heavily after riding bikes and snacking on pomegranate (in an attempt to kick the first seasonal cold). And there is a moment to reflect. I ran yesterday. A half marathon. And yes, I do feel God's pleasure when I run. I'm flying and forgetting and remembering and thinking. Forgetting the grind of the past weeks, remembering my dear friend Karen who ran into the arms of our sweet Savior Thursday morning, and thinking about why I'm running. It is freedom. It is presence. It is a gift not to be left or abused. It is the way, that since I could run, I've found peace with what is and isn't. And there is air, wind, flesh, and movement. Even when my muscles ache and I can't find enough air, I know deep down it is there and I'll find it if I

It is Tuesday. Tuesday. Not a new week or a new month, just another day. Enough of a day to pick collards from the garden, collect four eggs from the hens, play with friends, meet with my ladies at Redeemer, ride down the hill on old toys with wheels, walk to the church on the corner so the children can climb on the railing while I sit on the steps and soak in a bit of warm air, and to eat a soulful meal of butter beans, collards, beer bread, and squash. I can't not mention the bottle of homemade wine. There is nothing new, nothing profound, but there is life and laughter and tackle games before bed. And the morning will come quickly along with tutoring, coffee, the letter "N", research, hungry chicks, and a run to test how much oxygen I can fit into my lungs in 6 minutes and 30 seconds. That is it for Tuesday. Goodnight.