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| Photo by Bgrace |
A chorus of chirping leans into my sleep and dissipates my dreams. I am glad for their cacophonous departure.
Washing the bitterness of morning from my breath I ignore Sam's pleading eyes. He's too easily derailed by the scent of squirrels, too soon drawn away by the smile of a passerby.
Pre-dawn chill raises bumps across my shoulders and down my arms. I lift my foot above my waist onto the deck railing and push my chin forward over my knee, pressing into the tension set into my muscles overnight. My body is already remolding itself, though only a fortnight has passed since I've begun.
Almost five miles of path beckon me out. My course will remain constant, though I have been tempted to travel a different way. The seduction of the train station cannot be denied. It would be so easy...under the tunnel, up the stairs, a forbidden leap across the tracks, turning my back to the law. But boundaries have their benefits, and in the constants there are ever-changing variables.
I wonder how long I will stay in this enclosed infinity, this mock figure eight with no gate to escape its hold. Today I'll run it faster and deeper into the road.
Resisting the urge to rush through stretching, I give the limbs that will carry me their due. If I care for them they will be more apt to return the favor.
I turn the music on. The sounds are driven, sometimes defiant, mostly loud enough to drown the labor of my breathing. If my legs were to hear they might forget their courage, they could lose hope.
Initial steps are awkward. I feel for my pace. The large moon is lazy and still hovers to my left. Night is broken by the daylight though I can’t see its face yet.
My chest rebels against the first mile, but I persist until my heart falls in line. I tag my first branch, a spruced pine.
Squirrels dart across the lawn. Security stares down drivers going too fast on the road. It’s the second mile. I’m in the zone. I lengthen my stride and wonder about my time. I don’t keep a watch. I push instead against my mind.
I pass by the evergreen elders. Age has bestowed little weight on their branches. They don’t seem to notice their flimsiness, their frailty, their fate. I approach the fountain but Mary is dry and I notice the parching of my mouth that much more.
The door to the church stands out like a red lettered chest and I wonder who made her an adulteress. The bells are all silent, they do not toll, for wedding or funeral or any other whore. Her sanctuary will not give me rest. I keep moving.
Under the overpass where a white door waits. It’s locked up for now behind the gate. I tag my second branch. I think it’s an oak. I’m going strong now. I’m halfway home.
The next mile is a gradual decline. I walked it slow so many times. Memories like muses pass me by. The pond where I saved my fish from a snake and the magnolias bloom where the mourning dove waits.
Cardinals make their daily pass across my path warning me how quickly time flies. Bunnies hop and scamper away giving me their white tailed backs.
Blue birds are always last. They’re rare in this region but they always seem to find me. I remember the first time I followed one, past a rattlesnake up to the height of blessing. The vision returns often but always beyond my reach. What I wouldn’t do for sparkling red shoes. My focus closes in on what doesn’t move.
It’s the tree to my right, hidden in plain sight. White blossoms exploding with passion pink centers. So openly intimate she makes me blush. I hear the voice in my head saying this tree you shall not touch. I want to curse, I want to swear. Why must I be made aware? Would I have desired what You had not put there?
All is quiet, so hush hush. You are unsorry, I am nonplussed.
I startle a gaggle of geese all the way back to Canada. I feel no remorse. I am at the bottom of the figure eight. As I round it, I face the steepest and longest incline. It’s the fourth mile.
I am at my best. Balls to pavement, my heels never touch the ground. I can feel the strength in my calves though my chest aches at the strain. I’ve always been good at hills. I guess it’s the challenge. Dander up, my will locks in. I’ve got this one cold. Ten minutes to go.
This climb is my prayer chamber. I step forward and upward into each question, each claim. At the pinnacle, I cry out for mercy from the pain.
Then when I think it will never be over, I’m running down hill and ready for more. My Dad says on the decline all you have to do is put one foot in front of the other.
My feet are moving but my heart is still
At the top of hill.
Until it rains.
The heavens are anointing me, pouring out joy. I laugh and raise my hands in reckless hallelujah. Drops wash off sweat and stain, releasing tears and strains…I’m cooling down. I think I can go one more.
It’s a gradual incline, the fifth mile. My path cuts through the formal gardens. The roses climb higher on the stone, losing their petals as they grow. I pass by my tree, long ago freed. The diggers came out and uprooted the one that covered me. I avoid the puddles the shower left in its wake. I will not slip. I’m moving on.
A cluster of women cross my path. They are always walking, always chattering, always asking what I'm trying to prove. I wish I knew.
There is no defense, just the long stretch of submission. I feel it in my knees. They ache to bend to the ground in defeat. What is the point? I’m slowing now, it’s not making sense.
Then I see it. The paint on the pavement, glistening like sunlight on the snow. I look up and dawn is breaking through the clouds. I’m almost home.
I pass by a short cut. For a few seconds everything in me wants to take it, to make it mine. If I did, it would kill the wonder. The mystery would die. My eyes would be blinded by all that I see in front of me. I must keep my eyes closed on the long road and my soul open to hope that there is blessing in the distance. That it won’t always be far away beyond my reach and someday I will dance in the arms of all I see.
Temptation passes and I am stronger for it. My pace quickens, my legs lengthen their stride. Even my breath is steady. I’m chasing cars and the dog can’t reach my heel. I’m speaking out my song and bringing on the burning with my will. I won’t slow down until I tag the final tree. The high five at the end is just around the bend.
I'm sprinting now, I'm closing in, I'm stretching out, I'm finally home.
I can’t wait for tomorrow.
Well, I was hopeful after seeing it that I might find some the next day, but when we got to the Corning Glass Museum, we were met at the door with the bad news that a transformer had blown and the Museum might be closed the rest of the day. I was bummed. We had planned to go to Ithaca for Matt to see the National Geological Museum there. That meant we wouldn't have time to come back--even to shop. I was tempted to be upset, but in the back of my mind I just had this sense that God had something up His sleeve. We made our way to the museum, which was fairly small, so we went through it pretty quickly.
We were all alone in the chapel for about two minutes, until a young man walked in, sat down at the organ and began to play. I'm guessing it was his practice time. The pipes lined the entire back wall of the chapel and we were serenaded with beautiful sacred music during our entire visit.
I walked to front of the chapel and looked at the floor...
And I looked at the ceiling...
I looked all around me and saw these incredibly intricate tile creations. People, patterns and symbols were brought to life all along the front of the sanctuary. It was truly breathtaking.
